Tug
by IShipItAllAndThenSome
Summary: Infinite moments of Thor/Loki hair pulling. Because, natch, Thor's long hair, Loki's long hair, Odin's long hair, Sif's long hair, The Warriors' Three's long hair, FRIGGA-N' everyone's long hair, is obviously a cultural thing. And pulling on it is a courtship ritual/flirting technique. So, from the very start, Loki pulls Thor's hair. And Thor likes it. M: abuse, puberty, and sex.
1. Chapter 1: Newborns

**Man!ponytails. And long hair. And stuff. Basically, the most untapped(ha!) resource of the Thor fandom. EVERYONE HAS LONG HAIR THE LADIES AND THE GENTS AND I JUST ASDFGHJKL Hair. So, I had an idea.**

**Y'know how little kids tug on each other's ponytails/pigtails/braids if they like someone? Yeah. Cute but dumb, like most little kid stuff. Except I'm going to make that an Asgardian courting ritual. You like someone? Tug on that damn hair. You want a dance with them at some sort of party? Give that shiny braid a yank! You think they're just to damn fine to not ****snog? Tug on that ponytail and kiss that pretty face. **

**So. Loki's gonna tug on Thor's hair a lot in this fic. **

**You have been warned.**

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_After the war..._

"Thor," Frigga called, smiling softly. She knew her son well; he couldn't help but eavesdrop. He wanted nothing more than to be as good a king as his father, and listening to his deep booming voice as he discussed political matters seemed to the toddler the perfect way to learn. "Come in, now. We have someone you ought to meet."

Thor scrambled into their room, launching himself towards Frigga's side with wide eyes. A small bundle, wrapped in his father's cloak, rested in his mother's lap. It smelled strange, sweetly milky and warm - like a baby - and yet very cold, like snowy air in the earliest part of the day. "What is it, Mother?" he peeped, tightening his hands in her skirt to pull himself up higher.

"A very little boy," Frigga said, quiet, stroking Thor's hair. It had only just reached his chin in silky blond waves; by the time he was to choose a bride, it would spill down his back in a warrior's tail, and she would grasp it - wind it 'round her fist, if she loved him as passionately as she ought to; _who could resist her sweet little boy?_ Frigga thought - and pull gently, claiming him as her husband. She hoped that day was a long, long way off; she wanted her children to stay children for a while yet, innocent and small. "Your father found him in the snow, stolen by Frost Giants and near death with cold, and brought him home. He is to be your new brother, Thor."

Thor's whole face lit up, eyes wider than ever and shining with happiness. Baldur was his older brother - sometimes he played with Thor, but mostly, he just ignored the little thunderer in favour of his own friends - and Thor was determined to be an even better older brother than Baldur was.

"What is his name, Father?" Thor asked, looking up at Odin. From this angle, most of his face was obscured by a thick, dark beard; only the tip of his sharp nose was visible.

"He is called Loki," Odin replied. "You will be good for him, Thor. You will show him the right paths in life, and one day, you both shall rule."

Thor grinned. "Loki." He peered into the bundle and laughed.

Little Loki's soft, round-cheeked baby face was contorted. He puffed his cheeks out yet further, green eyes crossed comically, and blew a raspberry at Thor with a silver-tipped tongue, waving his little starfish hands at him and grasping at air.

"Hold him, will you, Thor?" asked Frigga. "My arms grow weary." True, she was lying; Odin rolled his eye at her, seeing through the farce immediately. She knew Thor wanted to hold his little brother, knew Loki wanted to be held, knew neither would ever ask for it; so, easily, she manipulated Thor's caring nature and within seconds, the orphan was cradled against Thor's skinny chest.

Thor smiled down at Loki, bouncing him gently and kissing his forehead. Loki giggled wetly, a little babyish laugh that made Frigga twice as glad of his arrival, and grabbed Thor's finger, gumming at it. One little tooth nicked his cuticle and Thor restrained a wince.

"We do not bite our brothers, Loki," Thor chided gently. "Not unless we are gentle. We only bite hard if we are fighting monsters."

Loki giggled again and relinquished his finger, still wrapping his little hand around it and holding tight. Thor grinned, dimples in his cheeks, and lifted him up high to blow on his bare little belly as he'd seen court maidens do to their own children and charges. Loki laughed even harder, eyes alight and cheeks flushed with it, and with one hand, he very purposefully grabbed hold of a fistful of Thor's hair and pulled.

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**Only six hundred and forty nine words of story, but THERE BE MORE A-COMIN'! BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES! THAR BE A STORM APPROACHIN'!**

**Please review for schmoop and future Thorki. Also, yay for Odin not yet being a dickmelon. **


	2. Chapter 2: Thunderstorms

**Yep, two in one day. I should really be doing homework. But suck my soft serve, RL, I give as many f-cks as an asexual virgin.* **

**Anyways, there's going to be a bunch of these chapters. Any time Thor and Loki tug each other's hair, there shall be fic. Which means there are gonna be a lot of chapters. **

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_Three months later..._

"Thor!" Loki called, toddling out the front gates of the palace, bare feet sinking into loamy black soil, a chilly new-spring smell filling his button nose. He'd only recently started walking, but he'd taken to it immediately; he raced Thor's little white pony constantly, winning very rarely and laughing every time, climbing up Thor's shins to hug him tightly around the neck and pull his hair. He loved his big brother - when he was scared of a nightmare, he came to Thor's bed; when he was lonely, he curled up in Thor's lap for hugs; when he wanted a story, he dragged books at least twice his size over to Thor and flopped up against his chest, and Thor always read for him immediately, stroking his hair gently. Thor was Loki's favourite.

Naturally, Loki wanted nothing more than to get his own pony, to ride out with Thor. But Thor was nearly three now, and Loki had only just turned one. He hated being so little sometimes.

"Thor!" he yelled, picking up speed. His feet sank deeper into the spongy dirt as he stomped over it and he shoved aside the sharp, cruelly thin, low branches that threatened to slash into his round cheeks. There was a storm brewing, deep green-grey clouds boiling in the sky and flares of violet thunder shooting through them as the air thickened with moisture. The forest was dark and cold and Loki shivered in his thin tunic, little hands squeezing his reedy white arms. Thor was big and warm and very, very good at hugs. Loki wanted Thor.

_Now. _

Something let out a loud, rough, high screech and Loki whimpered, racing through the woods and gasping with terror. "Thor! _THOR!"_

Thunder boomed, and Loki tripped over an exposed root in shock. Lightning illuminated everything momentarily, and Loki thought he could see Thor through the trees; he scrambled upright and ran for his older brother, tears leaking down his cheeks.

Rain began to pour and Loki monkeyed up Thor's side, clinging to him and burying his face in Thor's neck. "Thor, Thor, it's _scary!_" he sobbed, shaking his head. "Make it go 'way!"

Thor dropped his hammer, the handle stretching a solid foot above his wheat-gold head, and hugged Loki tight. "Brother! You're shaking; what is wrong?"

Sif rolled her eyes, playing with her braid. "Your brother's a big baby, Thor. He's a yellow-bellied infant. Let him run home to your mother; it's a mother's duty to coddle her wailing brats."

Hogun snickered until Thor kicked his shins.

"Do not mock my Loki," Thor boomed in his little boy voice, thunder crackling. "Don't be cruel to my mother, either!"

"The storm," Loki whimpered, clinging, burying his face in Thor's hair. "'S gettin' bigger and closer, brother. I'm frightened."

"Oh, Loki, 'tis just me," Thor soothed, rubbing his skinny back gently and kissing his forehead. "Father thinks I ought to start my training and I have been practising making storms all afternoon."

"Just you?" Loki asked, clarifying. "Not anything scary?"

"Well, there was a bilgesnipe youngling, but I smote it." Thor puffed up his chest with pride, and Loki grinned, sniffling wetly. Thor thumbed the tears off his cheek and wrapped his cloak around Loki's shoulders to keep the rain off. "You needn't fear anything now, Loki."

Loki twisted one hand into Thor's shoulder-length locks and tugged gently, resting on his shoulder.

Thor smiled, kissing his brother's dark locks, and grabbed Mjolnir's handle, dragging it along behind him. "Let us go home, now, brother. Sif, Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg - I shall see you tomorrow, yes?"

Sif and her friends nodded, and raced each other into the trees, laughing and shoving each other.

Thor bounced Loki up higher on his hip and Loki tugged his hair again. "So, little brother, what do you think of the storm?"

Loki looked up, rain peppering his cheeks, and he giggled, staring up at the purple lightening and hurricane clouds. "It's my favourite thing, Thor. Besides you, because you're my favourite forever."

He kissed Thor's cheek, grinning, and tugged randomly at his hair until they were home.

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**Bow down to the cuteness and review.**


	3. Chapter 3: Learning

***It's a joke my sister and I share. Not intended to be offensive towards asexuals, virgins, or asexual virgins.**

**Anyhow, yeah. New chapter, because I'm getting no reviews and, hey, maybe bombing you guys with updates and schmoop will get more. I might even end up getting to Thorki by the end of the day. **

**Anyways, yeah. MORE SCHMOOP AHOY!**

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_Just over one year later..._

Loki, now about to turn three, sat atop a tree, a spellbook huddled under his cloak. Carefully, he whispered a spell, a protective bubble covering the tome, and he grinned. He'd been working on his spells for ages, and now he'd finally managed to get this spell right.

Thor, now four years old, stood proudly against the force of a massive tornado, swinging Mjolnir in his little callused hand, and shouted up to Odin, "Father, have I done it right?"

"You ought to keep your arm high, Thor," the Allfather said quietly, ruffling his hair. "Otherwise, you'll lose control."

"Yes, Father," Thor said, nodding grimly as he raised his arm. Already, he was bulking up, the weight of his hammer cording his whip-thin little boy body with muscle.

Loki scowled. "You're doing excellently, Thor! I love your tornado." He grinned over at the blond, turning the page.

"You've mastered the waterproofing? Loki, that's incredible!" Thor grinned and bounded over, arm still whirling, and Loki floated down to his side, book at hand.

"Thank you, brother!" Loki jumped up onto his chest and hugged tight. "Father doesn't know what he's talking about, Thor. You're magnificent." He kissed Thor's cheek and cuddled into him, sucking on his fingers and smiling softly.

"You're very kind, Loki." Thor hitched him up higher and tossed him up in the air. Loki laughed, shouting a spell and hovering into the trees once more, melting into the forest. "Be safe, brother!"

Loki giggled, hands propping his chin up as he flicked through the spell book, fascinated. He read through the tome again and again, a total of eight repetitions coming to pass as Thor mastered tornadoes, typhoons, and blizzards. Every once in a while, he'd look up and watch.

Strangely, Odin never touched Mjolnir; he avoided even looking at it. Loki just watched as his father and brother made nature - made the clouds and the rain and the wind. It was captivating; it was beautiful.

Soon, darkness approached, dimming the gold of the Asgardian sky to pale lilac that would melt into a deep, rich blue come nightfall, and Odin went inside. Thor stayed out, stretching his arm to summon the rain in earnest, and the clouds bubbled up in sweet spun-sugar shades before releasing their rain. Loki loped out to nestle against Thor's side, sitting cross-legged against his shins, and he beamed up at his brother. "You're really talented with them, the clouds. The universe."

Thor beamed down at Loki and stroked his hair, fingers raking over his scalp, and Loki crooned happily at the sensation.

Petting someone's hair, their scalp, was a familial gesture; vaguely patronising in some contexts, to be sure, but it was loving and protective. It wasn't quite a hair tug, Loki would learn later; it was innocent in every possible use, and it was almost always so completely adoring that it just felt _nice_.

"I am only just learning." Thor's cheeks felt hot - felt immolated. He resisted the urge to pat his cheeks to snuff out the fire in his skin. "I will soon be much better - I will be the best."

"You are the only, Thor," Loki pouted, tugging himself upright by grabbing Thor's hip for leverage. "No other can wield Mjolnir, Thor; 'tis forbidden for those who are not of our line, and Mother prefers her spells to the force of it. Father simply won't touch it, and I..."

He stared down at his bare feet, long white toes caked in wet black dirt, and was ashamed.

"I wish to learn, brother; I have always wanted to be like you," he whispered.

"Now, Loki," Thor said softly, grabbing him 'round the waist and hoisting him up. "You oughtn't wish to be anyone but yourself. You are the best brother anyone could have, and the best son. You are perfect as you are, my Loki. Never change."

Loki looked up and smiled, green eyes illuminated by the setting sun so they shone gold on the golden boy of Asgard. "Brother..." He surged forward, hugging Thor tight around his throat, and wound both hands tight in his locks, tugging fiercely.

Thor hugged him tight and, for the first time, one finger twisted in Loki's dark curls and tugged right back.

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**I feel like crap today. My stomach is in knots and kind of barfy, so there will be fic therapy. All the stupid people I had to deal with yesterday actually made me ill. **

**I can't believe it. **

**Anyway, review for mutual hair-pulling, baby!Thorki!cuddles, Odin's dickery being thwarted by the power of toddler love, and, oh, yeah:**

**FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD AND PURE IN THIS WORLD, INTELLIGENCE SHALL PREVAIL!**


	4. Chapter 4: Friends

**Hello, friends! Well. I say friends, but I don't know any of you in real life, except for my sister, so, yeah, scratch that. Scratch it. Another ****installation. More hair-pulling, more schmoop, more of EVERYTHING WONDERFUL!**

**Enjoy.**

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Loki grinned, lying in wait in the top shelves of the cupboard, eyes flashing as he cast a quiet spell on the food kept there specifically to keep Volstagg out of the court's daily meals. The seven-year-old's mop of unruly red curls became visible and Loki whispered quietly, "Go!"

At once, great stacks of shortbreads danced through the air, groaning out a low war chant typically used in vengeance of fallen brethren.

Volstagg shouted in terror, fleeing the closet, and Loki burst out in irrepressible giggles, rolling onto a sack of grain and squirming with laughter. He laughed himself right off the edge of the shelf, only just catching himself with a quick spell before he hit the ground, head first. Sobered somewhat, he crept through the halls back to his and Thor's room. Volstagg was wailing like a brat about haunted shortbread taking its revenge just outside the door, and Loki schooled his features so as not to reveal his involvement.

"What are you talking about, Volstagg?" he asked, pitching his voice higher.

"'Tis the biscuits, child," he whispered, eyes wide. "They are enraged. I have eaten them by the troop, and now they wish for vengeance!"

"B-But, I have eaten them, too." Loki forced himself not to laugh, the quiver of it sneaking into his voice anyway. "What if they seek to kill me?"

"Oh, by the Norns," Hogun groaned, "You stupid insatiable fool, Volstagg! It was no more than some foolish prank!" He slapped the back of the stocky boy's head, frustration evident.

"B-But the _dancing..._"

"Magic." Hogun cut his dark eyes at the toddler, who looked up at him with innocent green eyes. "No more than magic. Now cease your squalling. Let us find you something to ease your spirits, shall we? Sif's father has sent her a package; perhaps she'll have some meat." He clapped Volstagg's shoulder and the ginger immediately brightened, racing him towards the girl's room.

Loki waited until he was certain that they were gone before collapsing in laughter once more, flinging himself into the bed.

Thor blinked, awakening himself, and tipped his head to one side. "Why are you laughing, brother?"

"Nothing. I heard a joke." Loki's silver tongue glinted through his grinning lips, and Thor grinned back, ruffling his hair. A few round grains rolled free, clattering against the floor, and Thor frowned with mock-severity.

"It seems someone has been in the trick cupboards, little brother. Now, 'tis impossible that you could have had anything to do with the nonsensical fright of my friend, is it not?"

Loki looked down at his hands, frowning. "Of course not, brother."

"Loki."

The three-year-old looked up, biting back laughter. "I'm sorry! Only it was so funny, seeing him near soil himself at the sight of singing shortbread! You are two years his junior and you would not have fallen for that!"

Thor giggled, picking Loki up and flopping back onto the pillows. "True, but I am not as... _single-minded_ as Volstagg."

"You mean that you're cleverer than he is," Loki corrected, clamoring down to curl up in Thor's lap and taking one of his hands, playing with the fingers. "He's not very bright. He just eats."

"He is my _friend_, Loki."

"_I_ am your friend." Loki rolled away, looking away from Thor, still clutching one hand tight. "He is someone Father wishes to follow you in battle when you are king."

Thor rolled Loki back onto him, sitting them both upright. "Loki... You are my brother. You are my very best friend. But I am supposed to have other friends - I _want_ to have other friends! Hogun is very brave, and Volstagg is unflappable and determined, Fandral has a great eye for detail, and Sif is a perfect warrior. They are good friends to have."

Loki curled up tight, biting his silver tongue so hard that his mouth and eyes flooded.

"But they are not my Loki."

Thor raked his hand through Loki's hair, hugging him close, and Loki flung his tiny arms around Thor's neck, eyes squeezed shut.

After a long moment of the two of them clinging so tight their arms hurt, Thor pulled back and kissed his forehead. "So, dancing shortbread?"

"Yes." Loki hunkered down, squirming into the curve of Thor's neck, and blinked his spellbook into Thor's lap. "It was very, very funny. If you'd like, I can show you which spell it was."

Thor grinned, flipping the book open, and began fumbling through reading the tome aloud. Loki giggled at his butchered pronunciations and tangled one hand back up into his hair.

"If you pull any harder, I shall go bald," Thor winced, rubbing Loki's back.

Loki nodded, easing up, and Thor laced one hand into his hair, blunt fingers twisting in his dark locks as he paged through the rest of the book.

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**Everything is cute. Enjoy yourselves. And please review. **


	5. Chapter 5: Briars

**Again, more! I was told that, perhaps, a four-year-old shouldn't be fighting bilgesnipes and summoning natural disasters. Explanation: Odin sucks as a parent. Notice how I've stopped mentioning him not being a dickmelon?**

**Yeah. He's kind of doucheing it up now.**

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_One year later..._

After Volstagg had found out about his trick with the shortbread, he'd started messing with Loki. Leaving his muddy boots in Loki's half of the bed, dropping his hairs into Loki's drinks, locking him in horse stables before they were cleaned - not necessarily intelligent, but disgustingly effective, to be sure.

And then Hogun, who hated liars, found out that Loki had lied to his face in the pursuit of more than a few of his pranks. With his intellect, their retaliation became more and more potent. Some days, Loki fought back; others, he climbed up the shelves of his mother's magic library and read for ages, never coming down until he was fetched - such as today.

Frigga hovered up to his side, scooping him up and kissing his hair. He threw his arms around her neck, face buried in her hair, and begged, "Please, Mother, don't tell Thor. He wants their friendship. I don't want him to be upset."

Frigga frowned, hugging him tighter. "Oh, my sweet little one, he will not be upset with you."

"He will be upset with them," Loki whined. "And then he won't have any friends when he is king, and he will have no allies against the Frost Giants, and they will eat him like Volstagg eats an entire banquet!"

"And how is that, my boy?" Frigga floated down to the ground, stroking his dust-coated hair.

"In one bite. Only some of the bones will come back out." Loki looked up at her, big green eyes shining wetly. "Please, Mother, he cannot know."

Frigga sighed, eyes pinched shut. "Of course, Loki. He will not be told by me."

Loki frowned at the obvious loopholes. "Or any of your handmaidens, or your court. You won't tell anyone, because this court is full of gossips, Mother, and they will tell him eventually!"

"I swear by the Norns, I shall not tell him, my little one," Frigga said soothingly, kissing his forehead. "Come, now, my sweet boy. Let's get that dust off of you."

Loki nodded, blinking it away, and curled up against his mother's chest. "Thank you, Mother. For promising." Loki hated this - the secret-keeping and the sick, twisty feeling below his ribs whenever he thought about Thor's friends - but he couldn't ever tell Thor. Ever.

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Hogun laughed, gripping Volstagg's hand with a hard clapping sound before quickly letting go. "This may have been our best effort yet, my friend! He screamed like a dwarf in sunlight!"

Volstagg grinned, shuffling over to the cupboard and scooping up armfuls of cakes and thick slabs of meat. "Indeed. He was most afeared. We may have nearly made up for his deceit and malice."

Thor frowned, tugging on his belt in hopes that it could keep Mjolnir at his side. It didn't, sagging pitifully for a few seconds before snapping like twine, sending his hammer crashing to the floor. "Whose deceit and malice?"

"Thor!" Volstagg blinked rapidly, panicked, and shoveled his cakes into his mouth one by one at an incredible pace. Hogun shot him a hard look and beamed. "My friend, we were only talking about the subject of a few pranks we have pulled. He is most deserving, Thor, he has lied to many of us and frightened poor Volstagg into near-starvation."

Thor's eyes widened; that was ludicrous and a little terrifying, the idea that someone could be that powerful. Nothing but an absence of vaguely edible things could stop Volstagg from eating. "Who? I should like to give him a piece of my mind. Nobody treats my friends with such disrespect. Although, Loki is quite apt at mischief. Have you enlisted his aid? I am sure he'd be more than willing to assist you." Thor smiled softly. His Loki was the cleverest and loyalest little brother one could have.

"We - We cannot, Thor." Hogun shifted his weight, preparing to run.

"Why is that?"

Sif rolled her eyes, swinging down from the ceiling so fast that her own braid almost hit Thor's eye. "Your Loki is the victim of their mildly clever pranks, Thor. They locked him in a stable for nine hours yesterday."

Fandral, who was quite possibly more of a gossip than the handmaidens, said nasally, "I heard tell that 'twas because he can speak to horses. He told one to kick its way out in order to free himself."

Thor grabbed the collar of the five-year-old's shirt and dragged him forward. "That is a lie, Fandral. And you! Hogun, Volstagg - you said you were my friends!"

"We are - " Volstagg managed around a mouthful of cake, crumbs spraying.

"No, you are not! Friends would not harm my brother in like fashion, or spread slander to soil his good name!"

Hogun snorted. "His good name..."

"What? What has he done to sully his reputation? He is three years old, Hogun! He is but a child, and you think he is some sort of atrocity! He is my brother. Leave him be or be kind, but you cannot be my friend if you are not his!" Thunder crackled, streaking sharp luminescence over the vast greying sky, and the wind howled like it hurt, rattling every window.

Hogun bows his head, accepting easily. "My Prince. I will be kind to your brother - not for the merit of his own actions, for I have not seen it, but for the merit of yours, in hopes that one day, I will see the good in him that you do."

Thor smiled, a hard line, and nodded. "You will. He is nothing but good; he is mischievous, true, but who of us is not at some point?"

Volstagg hitched his thumbs into his belt, staring at his pigeon-toed feet with something as sour as shame and as bitter as resentment. He did not want to be caught; he did not want to lose his friend. "I am sorry, Thor. I will... treat him better. I do not wish to suffer his machinations - none of his lies, nor his pranks."

"I will let him know," Thor conceded. "And you, Fandral? Will you cease your gossiping? At least on the topic of my Loki."

"I will. He is just... There are so many rumours." The blond thinned his lips, twisting at a strand of his hair nervously. "Some are troublingly possible."

"And none are your concern. Have we reached an understanding, my friend?"

"Indeed." Fandral bowed, dripping with superfluous flair even in submission. "What of Sif? Needn't she swear fealty to you and your brother, or is she above this by virtue of her weakness?"

Sif snorted. "Weakness? Dear simple fool, I have bested you every time we have fought - if I am weak, you are utterly useless."

Fandral gaped like a fish. "Bu-But you are a girl. You are, indisputably, the weaker sex."

"Then perhaps you should join our ranks, and I yours," Sif spat. "In the instance that your mind is too addled to recal such details, Queen of this court, of the highest world, is a woman, yes?"

"Yes." Fandral looked cowed; Sif was quite possibly the best at diplomacy of them all, but that coin had another side, the crossing of which brooked only shame.

"She is also a warrior, as deft and capable as our King. My sex is irrelevant, Fandral."

Thor grinned, and they clasped hands loudly, once, before letting go. "And on the topic of my brother, she has not disrespected him as you have. If she does so choose later, then I will ask the same of her, and she will make her choice. As affairs stand, she has not made that option relevant."

Fandral nodded, slinking away between Hogun and Volstagg, who took turns bouncing him between them, shaming him for his stupidity. Fandral was, by nature, very clever - the cleverest of the three, by any turn, but his tongue had grown so long from flapping it so often that it rolled over his chin and tripped him more often than not.

"Thank you for your loyalty, Sif," Thor said, turning back to look at his friend. He caught nothing more than the sight of her braid as it flashed up past him, a comet's tail as she swung back up into the vast ceiling.

"He has not given me cause to dislike him. Should he do so, I will make my opinion accordingly."

Thor nodded, once, and raced off to the rooms he shared with Loki. He slammed through the door and threw himself over their shared child-bed, finding Loki in their washrooms, wrapped in thick wool to dry himself, hair a dark raincloud around his head, dripping onto his hunched shoulders and bony chest. "Brother! I did not know my friends were mistreating you; I am so sorry, but I have made it stop." He grabbed another sheet and patted his brother's neck and chest dry, picking the toddler up.

"Mother swore she wouldn't tell you!" Loki shrieked, squirming. "You weren't to know! Now you hate them, or they you, and you won't have any valid connections as King, and the downfall of Asgard will be my fault!"

"Mother...? No, Loki, I did not find out from our mother. They were talking of how they had hurt you, bragging of it as if it were an act of valour, but I made them swear not to mistreat you again." He held Loki tight, rubbing his back, and his brother went still, clinging to Thor so tightly that it hurt, sharp heels digging into his back. "Things will be better, my Loki. They will not hurt you again."

Loki buried his face in Thor's throat, reluctant to be set down even as his older brother took the woolen sheet to his hair and tousled his locks dry, seating the small boy in his lap. Thor slid away for only a few seconds, fetching a brush with which to detangle his hair, and set about the difficult task with a slow, sweet patience reserved for nothing and no one else. He ran the bristles through long, dark locks - when wet, curling gently, they near-reached his precipitous clavicle - and watched, terrified, as his brother's shoulders stayed tremblingly tense.

"My Loki? What is the matter?"

Loki was still and cold and pale, the sleek surface of a frozen sea, while underneath he was storming, rolling and rotting and suffocating under the weight of this. He did not want to be loved by force - by his brother's mandate. He wanted to be worthy of the love of his people by his own merits. He wanted nothing more than that. And yet, here was someone who had loved him unconditionally since birth, who would never do anything but, and despite reciprocating twice over, Loki felt a briar thorn-prick of hatred spear through him. They would deal with his presence, now, Loki knew, but they would never love him - they'd never even like him. That was now impossible.

And so his back was tense, rock-solid.

"You know."

Thor's brow furrowed, and he rested one warm hand on his brother's cold shoulder. "Brother, I swear, I do not."

Loki snorted, shaking his head. "Precisely." He turned around on his haunches and climbed back into Thor's lap, hugging him tight, pushing the briars back out and stemming the wound with Thor's solidity, his warmth and his love. His eyes fell shut and for a few seconds, he felt a shudder coil within him. He knew that if it reached his muscles, if it reached the surface, he would never be able to let Thor go, so he pulled away.

Thor ran a hand down Loki's back and kissed the crown of his head, brushing through a particularly vicious snarl of hair. The bristles caught, and Loki's head went with the sharp pull so as to avoid an equally sharp pain. He reached back, grabbing Thor's free hand, and squeezed as Thor worked out each knot with uncharacteristic gentleness and rough, warm hands.

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**THOR: THE DARK WORLD IS SO GOOD IT IS SO GOOD DON'T BOTHER TO REVIEW UNTIL YOU'VE SEEN IT BECAUSE I JUST I JUST THAT MOVIE IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN MY SANITY I AM SO DONE I AM SO DONE LOKI LOKI LOKI LOKI AND JANE JANE JANE JANE AND SIF SIF SIF SIF AND THOR THOR THOR THOR**

**I AM SQUEE**

**Review eventually. **


	6. Chapter 6: Destiny

**Hello, all. I've got many, many, many, many more chapters planned, but I'm a little stuck on linking them to the current ones. So if you have any prompts, any ideas, just include them in a ****review - other characters involved, ages of all characters, key points/words-which-must-be-included, and anything else you'd like. **

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_Three years later..._

Loki frowned, tugging anxiously at his hair.

Frigga tapped his wrist. "No, my sweet son, you cannot undo this. It takes hours to manage your hair." Delegation between the worlds was upon them, a week-long celebration that served as a guise for Odin and the other kings to resettle their treaties and ensure peace. Appearances were important. As such, Loki's hair had to be neat and presentable.

"Not with magic, Mother," he pouted, arms crossed, eyes fixed downward at his book. "With magic, it takes mere seconds."

"With magic, Loki, your hair still looks a sight. A sight subject to the laws of gravity, certainly, but your curls still flow and fall in your eyes and the elves believe any sign of disheveledness is unseemly, indicative of an inability to control oneself and one's family, let alone an entire realm."

Loki nodded. "I understand, Mother." The idea of Asgard in shambles, in ruins, battling because of his foolishness and his laziness - it left him feeling vaguely nauseated. His back straightened, regal, and Frigga kissed his hair.

"That's my boy." Frigga carefully brushed his hair down flat, slicking it back until it lay elven-sleek to his shoulders. "There. Don't you look handsome?"

"Mother!" Loki's nose wrinkled and he hid his face in his book, unwilling to look in the mirror she held out before him.

Thor, nearly eight years old, was already growing into adulthood, jaw widening and shoulders stretching broader. His body was corded with thick bands of muscle, shifting under golden skin, and Odin now spoke of removing their shared child-bed, for Thor was no longer a child, not truly. Somewhere between boy and man, too big and too old to spend a day in the trees or in their chambers with just Loki, and Loki loathed it.

Loki, however, having just breached six, was reedier and shorter than Thor had ever been. People constantly asked if he was ailing, slipping him scraps of their meal in hopes that they could bulk him up to appropriate sizes. Sometimes, looking over his sharp, delicate features and wide eyes, his slim body, they asked, very quietly, if he wasn't really a he.

Odin, shamefaced, would drag him aside after those encounters and _yell_, shouting his shame in Loki's face with scalding breath that smelled fetid, like the meal was rotting in his gullet. Loki would cry, because he always cried, and stupidly reach out for a comforting embrace from his father. Odin was built like Thor, thick and warm and broad, and Loki knew that if he ever deigned it appropriate, he'd give Loki, who was slim and hollow and cold, the best hugs of his life.

He never did. Batting Loki's little hands away, he'd hiss, "Act like a man. Mayhaps if you were a proper son to me, they would not see you as some mewling quim."

Loki would nod, head tipped down in a bow - not out of respect, but so the Allfather wouldn't see him crying still, anger boiling thick and red and salty-hot in his lungs - and retreat.

He needed to behave, needed to be perfect for Father - for Asgard.

And this - the scrawny, slim body that greets him in the mirror, the thinness of his wrists and his neck and his fingers, the pallor of his skin and the sharpness of his cheekbones - is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination.

Frigga felt this, the rigidity of his narrow shoulders, and bundled him in close to her chest, hugging him tight. She was not broad and solid like Thor; rather, she was soft, silhouette hollowed and curved like a bell's, and warm, body giving under pressure out of love, not weakness. Her hugs were still one of Loki's favourites.

"My sweet boy, what troubles you?"

Loki shuddered, cracking under kind words the way he goes armoured under verbal blows. "I am not like everyone else."

"No, my baby, you are not. You are kinder, more loving, more sweet than any other child. And you are my son, my beautiful little boy. You are so wonderful, Loki, never let anyone instill doubt of that in you." She kissed his hair again and he shattered, crying silently against her sleeve.

"I am pale and weak and thin. People think I'm a girl, Mother, but I am not! I am a boy, and I am to become king one day, and I will be revolted against immediately because nobody will see that I am strong enough to reign!"

Frigga's stomach rolled. This was her husband's doing; these were his words, funneling out of her beautiful son's mouth and poisoning his heart. "You are very, very strong, and they will know you for your strength and your devotion to your people, little one, and they will love you."

Loki's breath hitched in another stifled sob. "Father does not love me. Thor does not love me. His friends do not love me. 'Tis but you who would support me on the throne, and even so, you would be torn between your husband and your sons and I would see you at Father's side, abandoning me, before I saw you in pain at our splintering." He squirmed, wanting nothing more than to run; if he were such a shameful creature, perhaps his absence would do more good than harm this week. It would be easy enough to hide away in the woods; Father, surely, would be happy to see his seat at the dinner table emptied forever.

"I will never abandon you," Frigga snapped. Loki could almost see the power crackling in her throat, coiling like a snake about to strike, and her target's identity was twice as clear - Odin.

"Mother, do not be angry with Father, please! It is my fault. I am not the son he deserves, not the son he needs. Were I taller, stronger, it would matter not, and he would love me again, as when I was a child." There was a sobriety, a time-worn and hard-earned solemnity to his features that gutted Frigga. He believed all of this, believed he was at fault and believed, at the tender age of six, that he was a child no more, and loved the same.

"If your father does not love you, then he is more a fool than a man lost in his own bedchambers." Frigga looked at him, eyes locked with his, and kissed his forehead. "I am of Vanaheim, my son, did you know that?"

"No, Mother." Loki ceased squirming, hung in her arms like a dead weight.

"In Vanaheim, I was taller and stronger and fairer and wilder than other girls my age. I excelled at warcraft and witchcraft, at they were in fear of me as often as I was of them. Children can be cruel, and in Vanaheim, short, slender girls with dark curls and delicate features were the ideal. Boys were the same. And these raven-haired little porcelain children were beautiful, as beautiful as you are, my son.

"You carry my blood - my skill with magic, my calculating head, my realm's look - and you are my son." It was a lie, rolling off Frigga's lips, but it felt like truth. Loki had been given to her, a cold, strange infant, and she had loved him from the start. He was a stranger in this golden land as much as she was, and she loved him as her own. Loki had known no other mother, and so, when he grew to look like a child of Vanaheim, she smiled and thought it fitting that he appear as a child from her own womb. He carried her traits, her ways borne by him, but this was nurture. His nature, to be loving and open and almost greedily eager to touch, was from his birth parents, to be sure, but Loki was _her _son.

Loki nodded. Hogun was of Vanaheim himself, and he was slight and dark, with high cheekbones and deft fingers. "And what of Thor?"

"He is my son, and my blood is in his veins, but he is your father's son. He is clever, but he is not as clever as you are; he is strong and brash and he prefers thinking with his heart to his head, and he loves the battlefield."

Loki shrunk; Thor would become Odin, in time, and he would not love Loki - that path was already underfoot.

"But he loves you best of all, and that is my blood in him, and that is your destiny. You love each other, my beautiful son, and you will always love each other. No matter what obstacles are thrown between you."

Loki's shoulders straightened, spine realigning itself, and he beamed; in that moment, he looked like a king, a king she had once seen when her father was arranging courtships, a king who had been, perhaps, a touch too cold when Odin was beside her, warm and thick.

He looked, truly, like his father then.

Frigga hugged him tighter and kissed his hair. "Oh, my sweet boy... Be brave for me, now, and face the delegates and your father with the strength and dignity of the king you are already becoming."

His grin stretched wider and he kissed her cheek, fleeing the room to find Thor.

Frigga stood, smoothing her dress, and wondered what would have become of her had she chosen Laufey, if Loki were her son in every sense. The war would have been fought, a pigheaded and petty Odin at the forefront, and, perhaps, he would have taken her and her son as spoils of war.

She shuddered.

Meanwhile, Loki barged into his and Thor's room to see his brother, the golden boy of Asgard, readying himself for the delegations, chin trembling as one of Father's servants removed their childbed.

"I..." He stopped, sniffling. "Father says I am too old to share a bed with you. I am becoming a man now. I cannot waste any more time as a child." Thor's broad shoulders were drowning in the red of his cloak, slumping, and Loki wanted to be sick.

Odin making him wear that expression was one matter - to be expected. But no one, no man or woman or child or beast, had permission to weigh Thor down with the same look.

Loki threw himself into Thor, arms flung around his chest, face buried in his thick neck. "You are my brother, Thor, and you shall always be. No matter what Father says or does, or anyone says or does, I will love you and you will love me."

Thor hugged Loki just as tight, eyes squeezed shut as he breathed in the sharp, herbal-sweet scent of his hair. "You sound very certain of that fact, brother." One fist wound its way into Loki's locks, holding rather than pulling, waiting patiently.

"We were made to care for each other. Such is out lot in life, brother, and I am satisfied by that." Loki slid one hand up, fingers combing through the ends of Thor's warrior braid.

Thor squeezed harder and, a slick, sweet calm filling him like a chalice, tugged at Loki's hair.

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**So. Odin is more of a dickmallow now, and Frigga deserves all the "Universe's Best Mom" mugs, and I am satisfied by this. **

**Please review for 1821 words of actual story in this chapter!**


	7. Chapter 7: Elves

**Ages: Loki is six, Thor is seven but will soon turn eight, Sif is eight, Fandral is eight, Hogun is nine, Volstagg is eleven.**

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_Mere moments later..._

At last, Loki loosened his hold on Thor, face still pressed into his chest. "You'd best ready yourself for the festivities. Father might elsewise be cross."

"Father is never cross, dearest Loki." Thor grinned and kissed his hair, moving to ruffle it, and Loki squealed, ducking out of the way.

"Have you no clue how long it took Mother to fix my hair, Thor?" he yelped, batting at Thor's broad, warm hands.

"I _like_ your curls," Thor complained.

"The delegates are not of your school of thought, dear brother," Loki said. "And my hair would offend their ever-so delicate sensibilities." He leaned away from Thor's reach, pert little nose wrinkling.

Determined, Thor chased him through their room, laughter filling it, and Loki leapt from the bed to the windowsill.

"You shall not destroy my hair, Thor!" he yelped.

"I intend not to destroy it, brother, only to liberate it!" Thor placated, grabbing for him. Loki leaned out the window so far he fell, plummeting, and Thor's mouth ran dry. "Loki! _Loki!"_

His brother floated calmly back up, giggling, pale cheeks flushed warm. "I've been learning how to fly, brother, look! I'm fine!"

Thor scrambled up onto the sill and pulled Loki in, hugging his little brother tight and kissing his hair. "Do not _do_ that, brother! I was afeared you'd fallen to your doom."

Loki hugged him back. "I do not need your worry, Thor. I am capable enough of my own protection." Still, he cuddled into his brother's chest, legs wrapped tight around his waist. "You oughtn't fret over me; spend your effort in pursuits of that which you enjoy."

"But I enjoy ensuring your continued survival," Thor bratted back, grinning. He tossed Loki up into the air and caught him, swinging him around happily.

"Thor! I am not Mjolnir; do not swing me in like fashion!" Loki protested through his giggles.

Thor finally slowed, letting Loki down, and he laid a palm over Loki's hair, smoothing it down. "Come. We must find our way to Father and Mother. The feast must be starting soon." Thor took Loki's hand and led him to the banquet hall, the two of them laughing all the while.

Frigga grinned and hugged them both upon their arrival. "Be good, my sons."

Thor nodded, and Loki smiled up at their mother. "I will be the best I can, Mother." He kissed her cheek.

"That is the most anyone could ask of you, dear."

Thor scampered off to find Odin, hugging his meaty thigh and beaming up at him; Loki lagged behind.

"Ah, my boy!" Odin ruffled Thor's hair, which fell back into place as soon as he stopped. "I'd like you to meet the Elven delegates." He gestured to a tall, seal-sleek pair of blondes. The two Alfen women, moon-pale hair spilling neatly down their long, sinuous spines and held back by glistening circlets, smiled down at the boys and said in unison, "Hello, Odinsons. We are Rhota and Kybarrha."

"I am Thor Odinson, and this is my brother, Loki." The young thunderer smiled sweetly, and Rhota - a few inches shorter than her counterpart, with long pale lashes fringing her sloe eyes and full, plum-dark lips - bowed her head.

"And 'tis you who shall, one day, sit in your father's throne," she nodded, long neck straightening. "I hope that you shall rule wisely."

Kybarrha, as lean and straight as a pole with wide golden owl-eyes, inclined her head towards Loki. "And you, youngling? There is great ambition in your kind heart. What of your future?"

Odin smiled, guiding the Elves to the long table, laid out with delicacies from all the nine realms. "My sons were born to rule, but Thor... He has the warrior's heart my kingdom deserves." He clapped Loki's back and he stumbled, falling to the floor. "My son, Loki, is too fragile to reign. Up, now, my boy."

Loki set his jaw, teeth grinding, and barely restrained himself from stomping to his seat, hair falling in his eyes.

Rhota's nose wrinkled at the sight and she, with delicate fingers, swept his hair back. "Your sight oughtn't be obstructed, child. Blindness leads only to foolish decisions."

Odin shot Loki a wine-dark look and pushed him down into his seat. "Eat, _boy_. You need to keep up your strength - what little of it you _may_ have."

Loki scowled, tucking his narrow, high-arched and long-toed feet under his knees. He was strong - stronger than Odin knew, stronger than anyone knew. He would one day be king, ruling alongside Thor, and they would be strong and brave and glorious in their eternal reigns. They would fight for justice and order in all the realms, and all would know of Loki's strength.

"Yes, Father," he bit out, plucking up a round, sweet berry, staining his silver tongue with tart juice.

"Eat like a man! By the Norns, you eat as a woman does - 'tis only fitting, as you learn their craft." Odin sneered, filling his goblet with dark, pungent wine and his plate with rich, salty meat. He stabbed up a slice on his blade and threw it down to his hounds, Geri the Greedy throwing himself on it whilst Freki the Ravenous waited, licking his chops and drooling for a chance to eat.

"Magic is a wonderful pursuit, husband," Frigga said calmly, a politician's smile on her lips. "Kybarrha, how is your latest spell tome progressing?"

The Alfen witchwoman smiled back, grateful for the diversion, and spoke about the difficulties of crafting new spells and how helpful the latest bath of the Mead of Poetry was.

Odin laughed. "I once drank the whole brew in three gulps. So inspired was I and so clear my thoughts became that I immediately brokered war upon the Jotun filth."

Rhota hissed something in round vowels and snapping consonants to her companion, anger evident, and Kybarrha said, in measured Allspeak, "We are aware that you drained it, Borson, and of the ensuing battles. We do not, however, see the merit in such strategy. Depriving the world of inspiration and attacking what once had been your allied realm - perhaps you need to learn a lesson in moderation."

Loki snorted a laugh and passed her a plate laden with jewel-bright fruit in as many colours as the Bifrost contained. "It seems _your_ own wit inspires your speech in eloquent surplus, no fermented assistance required. The Light Elves are blessed indeed to have your counsel."

The Elves laughed like bells ringing, and Frigga smiled in earnest.

A small kernel of warmth flickered in Loki's chest and he resolved to keep making people laugh, if it always made him feel so warm.

Freki snarled lowly, yapping in Geri's ear and tossing him off of the shank Odin had just dropped, and Geri leaned up into Odin's lap, nipping at his wrist to ask for more food. Odin clucked fondly and slid a thick, bloody slice of meat over to him before looking up at Loki. "Do not disrespect your father, Loki," he ordered, taking a gulp of wine. Dark trickles spilled into his greying beard.

Loki's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Father."

A tall, broad, grey Dark Elf laughed. "That's how you control your spawn, Borson!"

Frigga sighed quietly. "Perhaps we ought to take our repass in a conference room, to discuss true politics - if it please my husband?"

Odin finished his latest measure of wine and tossed it to the floor. "Another!" He turned to the delegates and said, "Let us depart. There are affairs of state at hand."

The delegates rose and left, Kybarrha dallying for a moment to smooth Loki's hair back over his forehead. "You are quite strong, little one." When she touched his forehead, however, she frowned. "You are quite cold, Loki Odinson. Perhaps you ought to take a drink, warm yourself."

Loki smiled. "I thank you for your compassion."

"I thank you for your company," she replied. "You will be quite a poet, quite a magic user, with a wit such as yours." With that, she left, long silver-white skirts swishing from her hips, and Loki curled up in Thor's lap.

His older brother was warm and solid under his cheek, and he smiled softly, sucking on his lip and clinging to Thor's cloak.

"I am sorry about Father and my fighting," he whispered.

"I did not know you had fought," Thor said, quiet.

Loki stiffened, burrowing in tighter. "Then I am certain 'twas my imagination, brother."

Thor kissed his hair, fingers twisting into it, and tugged gently. Loki's eyes fell shut and he bit down on his lip, knees drawing up to his green-clad chest. He twined his own thin hand into Thor's locks and tried not to think on it.

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**Mythology time! **

**Light elves, or Alfheim natives/Alfen folk, are represented as women and work largely in inspiration-based crafts, while Svartlfar or Dark Elves are dark, muscular men who work in war and ****belligerent trades. **

**Odin drank the Mead of Poetry after sleeping with an Elven maiden, and then left her in a cave with his son to raise; what he did with all that inspiration is unclear. **

**He also has two wolves, Geri (Greedy) and Freki (Ravenous), who eat all the meat he is served because he only ingests wine. **

**Poetry was a huge part of Norse culture and all their spells were done in verse. **

**I did research because I like research. **

**And now I hate Odin even more, the dick.**

**Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8: Strength

**So, yeah. More. **

**Odin's gonna be a dick here. Content warning for parental abuse vis a vis shouting, beating, switching, and the strategic attempted lowering of a six-year-old's self esteem.**

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_That night..._

Loki rose from his bed as one of Odin's servants shook him awake and padded through his lonely, empty room, pulling on his cloak and boots to keep out the nighttime bite of the draughty castle. He made his way to Odin's chambers, picking at his lips anxiously. He would be punished justly for that evening's insolence and disrespect.

Odin, drinking amber mead from a broad stone tumbler, slugged it back before tossing the empty vessel to the floor, shattering it. "Pick that up, brat."

"We have servants for such a purpose, Father, and I have nothing with which to protect my hands."

"Pick up that mess!"

Loki dropped gracefully to his knees, keeping himself composed. Weakness - trembling, crying, any sign of upset - would prompt naught but further punishments. Sons of Odin were not weak. Shards of stone cut into his nail beds, and he hissed at the grit filling his cuts.

A boot - heavy, solid leather around an equally heavy foot - collided with his hip and he nearly toppled over, catching himself with a quick verse. He picked up the smaller pieces and stored them in the curve of the biggest surviving piece. "I've cleaned it, Father."

Odin rolled up onto his feet with a weary sigh, as if Loki had weighted him with all the Realms' troubles, and stood over him. "Look at the mess you've left," he tutted. "Your blood is all over the floor."

Red smears, matching that which blurted from Loki's fingertips, covered the stone he'd been scrabbling over. "I am sorry. I will attend to it."

"Lick it up."

This went on for hours. Loki would follow an order - organizing this chest or scrubbing this stained wall - and, in the process, displease Odin to the point of inspiring a new task. When one area was spotless, Odin would provide a brand new task, and the cycle began anew.

It was near midnight when Loki had worked over the entire room, sat back on his haunches at Odin's feet like one of his hounds. His hair, lank with sweat, clung to his furrowed brow, and he dug his fingers into his scrawny thighs anxiously. "Is there any task remaining for my completion, Father?"

"Stand, whelp." Odin gulped down a flagon of bitter, malty mead, licking thin brassy droplets out of his facial hair.

Loki stood, looking into Odin's eye. He would not tremble, he would not break. He was stronger than Odin knew, stronger than anyone else.

"Disrobe."

Loki shucked his cloak and toed out of his boots with ease, though he hesitated at the thought of removing his nightshirt. "Father..."

"Disobey me again, you worthless little dýr, and I will blister your hide 'til it burns black and falls off your bones!" Odin snarled, fisting his hand in Loki's hair. The little boy bit back any sound, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose, and kicked furiously. This hurt, hurt worse than any other punishment he had received thus far. Like any Aesir - like any Vanir, even - his scalp was marvelously sensitive. Dangling from it was deplorable, and his squirming only made the tension greater, but he was not present enough to stop.

"Let me_ go!_ Let me go, let me go,_ let me go!_"

The back of Odin's hand collided with his cheek and Loki fell to the floor with a dull thud. He dragged himself upright, staring Odin dead in the eyes with a decided, defiant set to his chin, and resolved himself not to break. Odin did not deserve to see him in pieces. With a quick motion, he removed his nightshirt and stood, trembling and naked, before the Allfather.

As he did every night, Odin inspected Loki - for what, the boy did not know - for nearly half an hour, and deemed him somehow acceptable.

"Assume the position."

Loki stood by his desk, hands gripping the edge, and bent at the waist, neck stiff as it held the weight of his head. He would not crumble, he would not fall; he was strong.

Odin stood behind him, a thin switch in his hard, wide hands. His arm drew back, all tension and power and brutal anger, and swung down, branch whistling through the air.

Loki did not move; the pain radiated down his legs and up his back, but he didn't so much as breathe.

Again, Odin swung, and again, Loki was as still and silent as a dead man. He didn't react until Odin began to speak.

"You are no son of mine, boy," he bit out, quiet and rough as a cliff's drop. "You are not the blood of mine, nor the flesh of mine."

Whistle, _crack._

Whistle, _crack._

Loki's lip curled and his knuckles whitened.

"Your mother knows this - oh, how she knows! That wench bore me no child worth the life it lived, and you, whelp, her favourite - you are not worth the stone 'pon which you stand!"

Whistle, _crack. _

Whistle, _crack. _

Whistle, _crack._

"She speaks to me, you know."

Whistle,_ crack._

"Of all her children - of the sons of mine she has raised, of all her litters - she tells me she has always hated you most."

Whistle, _crack._

Whistle, _crack._

Whistle, _crack. _

"No soul here in the castle loves you. You are alone. You are as an orphan."

Odin picked up speed, the pain arriving before the strike, and Loki bit down on his lip to stop himself from making a sound as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Any love we could have for a child is given to he who deserves it, and has since conception!"

Loki gritted his teeth, locking his knees and forcing himself to stay upright. _Mother loves me. I am her son, I am of her flesh and her blood, going back into the darkest of times. She is my mother. She loves me. _

"We give all our love to Thor, my bastard, because he is good!"

Whistle_crack_, whistle_crack_, whistle_crack_.

"We love him because he is all that is good in this world, while you - you dark, simpering, worthless little pustule! - you are but the shadow that makes his light brighter."

Whistle_crack_whistle_crack_whistle_crack._

_"_So long as Thor is here, you will never have a chance to be loved. So long as he is here, there shall be no love to spare for someone so disgusting as you."

_Whistlecrackwhistlecrackwhistlecrack!_

"And Thor knows it. He is glad of it; he is happy to be loved in your stead because he does not love you, either."

And then, as if the weight of all the worlds had fallen upon him, Loki broke. His shoulders heaved, stomach going concave, with the force of his sobs, face contorted terribly and burning red as he gasped out breathless tears.

Another forty strikes, each one landing on the same spot, and Loki cried harder until Odin, disgusted, flung him to the floor. "Stand before the mirror, whelp, and repeat the truth to yourself. I want you to remember."

Odin burned the switch, frowning. His son was not showing any signs of his true nature; perhaps he never would. But it became harder and harder to ignore the insidious iciness that bled through the child's veins. He hated this boy standing in his study beyond reason, and he hated that it was in his arms that the frozen waste had made its villainous trip into Asgard.

He would beat the blue out of that child, and only then would the beast be deserving of any semblance of compassion.

Loki, in the corner, broken nose set against the glass, murmured, "No soul loves you here. Not Mother, not Thor. You are not worth their love."

Odin smiled, pouring himself another drink.

By the time sunlight filtered palely through his windows, Loki's mouth was dry and his throat aching from the constant stream of filth pouring from his chapped lips.

His eyes, gummy and red from spending so long without being shut, did not process that his little silver-tipped tongue was glinting, as it always did when he spoke lies.

His tongue blazed like every star in the sky, and he did not notice.

"Clean and heal yourself, brat," Odin bit out.

Loki pulled away from the glass arthritically, uttering the requisite spell. His wounds all knit shut with a stinging sensation, and he stood, frozen, eyes dull as he waited for instructions. He was tired, dehydrated. He just wanted something that wasn't tainted - caustic and painful.

"Dress yourself."

Loki shrugged his nightshirt back on, fastening his cloak and collecting his boots.

"Go to bed."

Loki left the room, shambling through the halls until he found his way to Thor's door. He stumbled in, dead on his feet, and fell into bed beside the blond.

Immediately, Thor tucked Loki under his arm and kissed his hair, broad fingers tangling in his dark curls and snuggling up into him, tucking the boy under his chin.

"Thor?" Loki asked quietly, biting his lip.

Thor grunted, arms tightening around Loki.

"Do you love me?"

Thor smiled, kissed Loki's temple, and huffed out a half-conscious affirmative.

Loki's face broke out into a broad, sweet smile, and he kissed Thor's collarbone softly. "Happy birthday, big brother."

Hands tangled in each others' hair, squished together like wads of dough, they slept the earliest hours of the morning away.

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**Translation time - Dýr means "beast" or "animal" in Old Norse.**

**I don't think I'll write another chapter like this one. This one hurt to write. No more graphic abuse chapters or ****scenes. I can't do it. **


	9. Chapter 9: Birthdays

**I am sorry beyond expression for the last chapter. It needed to happen for many, many reasons, and I still hated every word of it. I hate Odin, in every incarnation of himself - original mythology, comic!verse, movie!verse - and I hate the things he does to his family and to strangers, but I do know this - this story will end happily. **

**Hold fast, my brave reader. Our journey may carry us through rough seas but when we find the bay, all will be well. **

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_Six hours later..._

Thor awoke properly to find Loki curled up on his chest like a kitten, clinging to him with a white-knuckled grip.

When the younger felt his brother shifting, felt his breath move from the slow rhythms of sleep to a more lively conscious beat, Loki looked up and said, "Happy birthday, brother mine." He let go of Thor's nightshirt and slid that arm around his neck, the other already there as its' hand tangled in Thor's locks, and hugged him tight.

"Oh. Yes. I am eight today," Thor murmured, as if the very idea were foreign. "I still feel as I did when I was seven."

"But now you sleep in your own bed, and I in mine." Loki frowned, and Thor couldn't help but see how desolate, how corrupted, that frown looked. It was too twisted and hollow and sad to be on his little brother's face. He reached up and cupped Loki's cheek, kissed his forehead.

"You needn't be so morose, my Loki," he grinned. "I am only one day older, as are you. And we mayn't sleep in the same room, but you can come to my room, or I to yours, and nothing truly has to change."

Loki grinned back and snuggled into Thor's chest. "I love you, Thor."

"I love you, too, Loki." Thor sat up, then stood, still hugging his little brother close, and Loki giggled.

"Put me down, brother!" he ordered, imperious, though he wanted nothing but to stay cradled to the warmth of Thor's body. It was safe here, comfortable and comforting.

Thor smiled and ruffled Loki's hair, hitching him up higher. "Once I've found you your clothes. Father has said I may spend the day with my friends in the woods."

Loki's shoulders collapsed like a periscope.

"And I have made certain that you get Svaðilfari - he is your favourite, is he not?"

Loki grinned like the sun. "He is. I never said -_ Thor!" _He tugged on Thor's hair and kissed his cheeks. "I thank you for this. All of this."

Thor beamed and kissed Loki's hair once more, sliding him into his room and helping him into well-worn leather trousers, a thick woolen tunic, and heavy boots.

"I do not need your help in dressing myself, brother," Loki snapped, tucking himself back. He didn't want Thor to look upon him, to see - he was worthless. "I am capable of that, at least."

Thor shrank back momentarily, brow furrowing in puppyish confusion before he stroked Loki's hair. "I know that, brother. But... I have missed dressing you. When you were much smaller, I would help Mother dress you every morning, and again when the light faded to dusk. Half the time, 'twas I who swaddled you for bed, and..." He smiled, eyes shining too brightly to be dry. "I do not want to grow up if I cannot be by your side."

Loki watched as Thor sat down on his bed, too heavy for a child, and listened as he sniffed back tears. He crawled into Thor's lap and hugged him tight, thumbing tears off of his cheeks. "What did I tell you, brother? We are destined to be great - _together._ It is written for us that we are bound, and I very much like that script. No matter what Father does, we are of a matched pair."

Thor smiled, nuzzling into Loki's curved palm, and kissed the meat of his thumb. "Thank you, my Loki."

Loki grinned, sliding off Thor's lap. "Come, now. You must dress, too. It is your special day, after all."

Thor followed Loki through the halls as he so often had. When he was younger, he had admired how sure his brother was - in his knowledge, his future, his footing. Loki hopped from rafter to rafter as if he had done in a million times before and smiled like the Norns as he did so. He had always been fearless.

Until he was not.

Loki hadn't changed, per se. No, merely grown quieter. He still laughed and joked and jumped and climbed, but it was as if he had suddenly realised his own mortality, and had grown more cautious for it. Thor, to compensate, had grown wilder. He rode faster and harder and longer, fought monsters that killed men more than thrice his years and strength, spoke louder and stilled less.

They were still a matched set, as always, but now Thor stood apparently bigger while Loki appeared to shrink.

Thor tugged on his own clothes with half the care he'd given Loki's and grinned, grabbing Mjolnir and chasing Loki out to the stables.

Svaðilfari was a sleek, fat colt with a blue-grey pelt and a thick, black mane with a white circle bridging his brow. He was strong and quick and unflappable. Loki adored him.

Murmuring quietly, the six-year-old informed his steed that they would be riding out with Thor that day. The colt whinnied happily. He liked that plan; Thor always guaranteed a run that left him warm and loose-limbed. He always felt stronger, taller, faster in the thunderer's presence because, there, he could let himself be so.

Svaðilfari bowed his head and Loki straddled his waist, climbing onto his bared back. Thor looked on, admiration glazing his eyes, and leapt onto his own horse, a white colt a few hands higher than Loki's. "Come, brother," he said, smiling, "we are meeting my other friends in the woods."

Loki smiled, whispering to Svaðilfari and watching, pleased, as the horse understood and acquiesced, galloping off at an incredible speed. He wanted to be as far away from that castle as he could. He never wanted to see its golden face again.

Thor laughed, chasing after him; his horse's longer legs easily made up the distance between them, and within minutes, the castle was no more than a glittering speck on the horizon.

Sif was the first to spot them, standing on the back of her ruddy brown pony, and she dropped down onto her filly's back and charged them. "Happy Birthday, Thor!" she shouted, leaning over from her steed's back and hugging him.

Loki fought a scowl. He didn't like this part - everyone else hugging Thor but him, and then not hugging him. _It does lend credence to Father's theories,_ he thought. _No one but Mumma and Thor love me. _He shook the thought away like a gnat and thanked his own Norns that he was allowed to heal himself, else that thought would have been harder to shake and the day's journey would have been impossible.

And then Sif wrapped her wiry arms around him, hugging him all warm and soft, smelling of grass and lavender and good, safe forest smells. He was helpless to do anything but hug her back, face buried in the taller girl's shoulder.

"Loki, how do you fare today?" Sif asked, turning her filly around and trotting back to the others between the brothers' own horses. "I saw Odin looking frightfully angered with you last night."

Loki's eyes bugged and he shook his head. Thor mustn't know, not ever. "I am fine, Sif, as anyone could see. But I thank you for your concern."

Thor looked over at the two of them, sleek dark hair glinting in the earliest sun, pale cheeks reddened from riding against the breeze, and wondered if it was not they who were a matched set. Decidedly _not_ pouting, he reached around Sif's narrow shoulders and tugged on Loki's hair, perhaps a little rough.

Loki's eyes widened further and he clicked his tongue, Svaðilfari racing away. "I'll go find the others! If there's a cake, someone must make certain Volstagg has not eaten it!"

Thor, dumbfounded, slowed to a standstill. Why was Loki running away?

Sif punched his shoulder, hard. "You simple little toadstool. How would you like it if I pulled your hair so hard?"

Thor frowned, looking down at his hands and visibly chastened. "I will apologize."

"As you ought. Besides, there is a cake. I can only hope Fandral and Hogun have managed to keep our fine, fat friend off of it." With that, Sif sped her filly up with a swift kick and chased after Loki, Thor following suit.

Loki, however, was very carefully sucking in breath, trying to calm himself. Thor was broad and callused and warm, yes, and solid with muscle - just like Odin - but he loved Loki. He would not have tried to hurt Loki, not once in a million aeons.

He finally calmed himself just as he reached the clearing and found Volstagg throwing himself at the cake, Hogun and Fandral doing their best to hold him back. With a quick verse, a protective bubble formed around the cake, and when Volstagg threw himself at it once more, it threw him right back - into the trees.

Sif laughed, stilling her filly, and dismounted. "Clever, clever, Loki," she said, watching Loki's cheeks grow warm. Praise such as that - praise for his mind, for his strongest feature and best trait - was hard to come by.

Thor jumped down from his horse and dashed over to Loki, hugging him tight. "I am sorry beyond words for having hurt you, dear brother," he whispered, kissing Loki's forehead. "I hope you can forgive me." One broad, warm hand lay across Loki's neck, behind his hair, and Thor's fingers itched to wrap themselves in thick, black, silken strands and tug gently, a reminder that he was here and that he loved Loki, that_ they _were a matched set.

"Silly Thor," Loki murmured, tugging on blond locks, "I already have."

* * *

**Mythology time! Svaðilfari is the stallion with whom Loki mated and the sire of Sleipnir, one of Loki's magical babies. Odin then makes Loki choose between the death of his child and his own banishment or donating it to Odin, so he could ride it into battle. Loki, being a wonderful Mumma, did not want his baby to die, so he chose the latter. **

**(He's not actually, mythologically, an Asgardian horse. But I thought it suited better that he was, because it gives Loki not only a trusted means of escape, but an unflappable friend.)**

**I've adopted the Swedish/Icelandic word Mumma, which is basically Mommy or Mummy or Mama, because Loki, who has always been very regal and mature, is now being told that those he loves most in the world do not share that feeling. He wants reassurance - needs it - so he calls Frigga 'Mumma' and knows she will always love him as her little boy if she lets him. **

**Sorry for the length of this author's note. Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10: Goats

**I had a NaNo to do this month. And I didn't.  
****(LIKE A BOSS.)  
****So, I did the math, and everything I've written this November, plus what I had written for NaNo, is around 40thou. So, I'm pretty pleased with myself. **

**I will try to keep this fic as fluffy as ****possible, but in no canon are the lives of our little princelings fluffy, so there will be some angst but! But! No more graphic child abuse. And when anything shows up, I will warn ahead of time. **

**Sorry for the SuperLong author's note that isn't really relevant. **

* * *

_Seconds later..._

Volstagg groaned, rubbing his stomach. "I am starved! Please, let us eat cake!"

Loki giggled, letting Thor out of the hug but holding his hand. "I believe it is presents, then feasting, is it not, Sif?"

The warrior-to-be smiled. "Exactly. Everyone, line up your gifts - Thor, take a seat."

The blond turned around and saw a makeshift throne of woven branches and flowers and leaves, cushioned by moss and a foot or so taller than him. Grinning, he slid back into it, watching amusedly as his friends jostled into a sort-of line.

Fandral had brought him round silver clasps for his cloak, grinning like a loon as Thor flipped them in his hands and buckled them on. Hogun gave him an old warrior's manual from Vanaheim, full of strategems and weaponry. Volstagg insisted that it was his idea to bring the cake, and as such he'd already given the gift, and then proceeded to hand over a feast, packed up in a wicker hamper - "Man cannot survive on cake alone!"

Sif, rolling her eyes, had handed him two things. The first, a dragon's egg - solid diamond and roughly the size of a ham, one could see the vaguest of dark shapes curled up within - made the two of them grin. "Dragons are fierce warriors and near-impossible to defeat in battle. As king, you will need something with which to strike fear into your enemies' hearts, and that pup face of yours simply won't," she said, laughing. The second was a small clay bead, dark grey and smaller than a pinkie fingernail.

Eight was the age at which Asgardians set out on the path to adulthood - they arranged marriages, tied their hair back, started training for their adult careers. And that bead, innocuous as it was, carried a far more conspicuous meaning.

It was the start of a marriage contract.

Thor's brow furrowed in confusion, while Sif scowled. "My father and yours are planning something stupid. You needn't wear it. You can even crush it under your boot."

Thor shook his head. "Our fathers are wise men. If they see some boon in this, I see no reason why I oughtn't humour them. Besides, we are friends." Carefully, he tucked it into his pocket; Frigga had yet to braid his hair, and he had nowhere else to put it.

"I am sorry," Sif whispered, hugging him briefly before stepping aside.

Loki, who had not seen the bead, scampered up to Thor, beaming. "Happy birthday, brother!" He held out his hands, and in them sat a brassy bell. "There are fierce creatures atop that mountain - " he pointed "- and they run faster, with surer feet, than any other beast. Truly, they are worthy of being yours. If you ring that bell, they will come running, and those that you can subdue will be your steeds."

Thor's eyes lit up, as did everyone else's in the company.

Volstagg piped up. "Thor? May we eat first?"

The blond laughed, hopping down from his makeshift throne, and started unpacking their feast. They made quick work of it, devouring a massive breakfast beneath the trees, and finally, when the last bones had been cleaned of meat and all that was left of the fruit was stems, pits, and cores, they turned to the cake.

It was magnificent. Eight layers of thick, rich, cake, glistening with honey and studded with sugar berries sat before them, shining in the sun. They all sang, loud and discordant and joyous, as Loki cut the cake into six even slices and divvied them up, and waited for Thor to take the first bite before demolishing their own slices.

Once they had finished, they leapt on their horses and rode off to the mountain, Thor clutching the bell in his hand. As they reached the base, he rang it, loud and clear and pealing.

_"Baaaaaaaa!"_

Thor blinked. That didn't sound right.

_"BAAAAAAAA!"_

Out of the mountain, from a hollow cave near the peak, stormed hundreds upon thousands of massive, hulking, angry goats.

They grinned, shouting, and threw themselves into the fray, trying to catch a goat for themselves. They were broad, muscled beasts, covered in a pale, coarse pelt that smelt faintly of cheese, and they sported massive craggy horns the colour of stone.

Volstagg immediately landed on a runt and rode it down onto flat land before it ran itself into a boulder to throw him off, retreating through it to their mountain tunnels.

Hogun and Sif attempted to capture the herd in a wide net - one Loki had woven for the girl for her birthday a few months prior - but the force of their stampede tore it to shreds. The two then jumped down from the trees and, on nimble feet, picked their way through the herd to find some small enough to capture.

Fandral, somehow, ended up clinging to the belly of a massive ram. He refused to speak of it after they were done.

Loki had flown to the top and, carefully, guided a smaller group of the biggest beasts towards his brother. Thor deserved something mighty and loyal.

Thor, grinning all the while, blasted open a tunnel in the goats' massive catacombs, sending most of the flock to flee, running to the opposite side and crawling in, bleating. The remaining eight goats charged at him, butting at his legs. He stood, unflappable, as if he welcomed it. Three of them grew bored and walked away, rolling boulders up the mountainside to block the opened cavern. One of them lost its footing and tumbled down the mountainside, only to pop back up and go home.

"Hardy little sheep," Fandral huffed, kicking at its rear end.

"Brat," Volstagg chuckled.

Of the remaining three, one grew too tired to stand and slumped to its knees, snoring heavily.

The last two kept at it until Thor grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks and said, "I, Thor Odinson, claim you as mine."

Resigned, they knelt before him, eyes rolling. One, slightly burlier, snarled at him, flashing big teeth, while the other ground its jaw in frustration.

"I think I shall call you Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr," he continued brightly. "Come along."

With the remains of Sif's net, he tied leashes around their necks and led them back to Asgard beside his horse.

When he arrived, glistening with pride, and told everyone of his new caprine steeds, they laughed.

And then, standing taller than Thor while still kids themselves, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr charged the court, teeth grinding and bared.

_It was a very good birthday,_ Thor thought that night, curled around his little brother, gently tugging knots out of his curls as the six-year-old slept. _Very good indeed._

* * *

**Mythology time! Loki once tricked Thor into taking goats as his steeds, and everyone laughed at him, but since goats are his animal symbol, I'm pretty sure he was cool with it. Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr mean, respectively, "Snarler/He who bares his teeth" and "He who grinds his teeth."**

**Sif, in original mythology, was Thor's wife. That ain't happening here, because as a Marvel movie!verse fic, I'm going off of the Sif/Loki vibe in the first Thor movie - not like they were dating, but like they had once. **

**The bead is irrelevant to actual Norse myth. I made it up because Thor has three little braids in Thor: The Dark World, but only two have beads, and he has two "love interests" - Sif, who Odin is pushing him to marry, and Jane, who he wants to marry. One is grey, like some of Sif's armour, while the other is black and kind of shiny, like a craft bead. A Midgardian craft bead. **

**Sorry for the rambling again, and I hope you review!**


	11. Chapter 11: Sisters

**Wow. I really should be doing my homework. It's a problem. But fic is so much more fun, and I just... SHMERR! Anyhoo, there's more fic below. Enjoy it as best you can.**

**We get more characters and some Loki!love; that sweetie deserves it. Also, Odin's a dick.**

* * *

_Four months later..._

Loki frowned, back pressed against the wall as he attempted to concentrate on Kybarrha's newest spellbook. The revelry below - Odin had destroyed a Frost Giant settlement the previous night - was too raucous to thoroughly ignore. He didn't see the point in it, but then, he never saw the point in his father's exalted deeds.

Tucking his book into his cloak and tying it up in itself so it functioned as a makeshift pack, he bounded across the rafters, looking for a path to his room, or the stables. He stared at his feet, anxious that he would fall and be seen, and wound up lost in the dungeons.

Many of the cells were empty, his mother's golden shields gone cold and grey without use, but one had some light to it, blazing and buzzing with power.

"If you touch the shield from the inside, it'll hurt you," Loki said, shuffling up to the occupied cell curiously.

A tall blue girl spat, scowling, her long black hair moving with her as she battered the shield. "I do not care. I will break free and avenge my people."

Loki cocked his head, floating up to eye level with his legs crossed. "My... Odin Allfather is upstairs, celebrating the attack on a Frost Giant camp. Was it your family he slaughtered?"

The girl's crimson eyes blazed and she whaled on the shield, throwing herself into it and screaming shrill, hoarse rage; blood, florid and as crimson as her eyes, spattered on the floor before her, dripping down her wrists from singed-raw hands.

"Please, stop! Don't hurt yourself, for the love of Yggdrasil, do not cause yourself harm!"

The girl stopped, sinking to the floor and sobbing, helpless. "I need to avenge them, child. My family was taken by the monster who sits in gilded splendour upstairs, and I alone survived because he wants to dissect my síða. What better way to make him understand it than to attack him for his war crimes?"

"I am no more a child than you, sorceress," Loki said quietly, placing a hand on the shield. It buzzed pleasantly, filling his cold hand with warmth, and he pushed through to touch her knee, green waves parting golden light. "I have never met another of my age who wields magic."

She smiled, wiping tears from red eyes, and laid a hand on his. "How you survive in this wretched place, I cannot understand, little one."

"I am not _little,_" Loki protested. "I am nearly seven, which is nearly eight!"

She laughed, and Loki went still to listen, not even breathing. It sounded like wind on snow and chiming glass or ice, beautiful and high and clear. Pure. "Well, then you are a man already. I am already nine."

Loki's eyes widened. Nine was not old at all for a Frost Giant. How could Odin do such a thing to a child? It did not occur to him that Odin had been doing terrible things to a child for years, that he was his own best evidence in such a case. The only thoughts in his head were those of sympathy and delicate, careful plotting.

"I will free you if I can, my friend," he promised, thumb raking over the raised sigils on her skin. Concentrating, he read them aloud: "A-Angrboða."

The little sorceress grinned, bolting upright. "You read Snowspeak?"

"I did not know it until now, but I must." Loki's face brightened. "Is that your name?"

"Yes. I am Angrboða the Jötun!" Her sleek, angular face melted into a soft, satisfied smile. Her name was sad, to be sure - "She who brings sorrow" - but remembering it, hearing it spill off of that silver tongue, filled her with glee. "Angrboða."

"I am Loki. The... Aesir." He stared at his hands, chewing on his lip.

"You are too cold for Asgard, Loki the sorcerer." She said it like it was a compliment, and Loki's face flushed.

"My brother and my... my friends, they are all very warm."

"Then I will be your sister, and I will keep your chilled company. Now, go. Before someone sees." Angrboða shooed him away, but before he complied, Loki hissed enough verse to heal her hands.

She waved him off with smooth blue palms, and he felt a sweet flare of pride bleed through him.

Loki ran through the halls, invisible, until he crashed into Thor's chest.

"Brother! Where have you been?" the thunderer asked, helping him upright and pressing him into a hug.

Loki closed his eyes, relishing the warmth against his cheek. He couldn't help but compare it to the coolness of Angrboða's thigh. "I made a new friend."

Thor kissed his hair, picking him up gently. "'Tis near nightfall, Loki. I am proud you have made a friend, but let us sleep now."

Loki acquiesced, fisting one hand in Thor's hair and pressing the knuckles of the other to his smiling mouth. He had a friend.

He had many friends - he had Sif and Hogun and Fandral and Volstagg, he had the horses, he had his mother, he had his brother, and now, he had a sister.

_It was wonderful_, he thought as he drifted off to sleep on Thor's chest, _to be loved_.

* * *

**Mythology! Angrboða was Loki's first wife.  
(They had Fenrir the wolf, the Midgard Snake who turns the Earth in the sky, and Hel/Hela, who guards the dead in Hel, Realm Of Sleep. It's where people who don't die in battle go, and it's basically just a colder version of regular life except you don't age.)  
She's a Frost Giantess and a sorceress, and no, she is not Loki's sister. I used that because A) she just lost her family and Loki has shown her kindness, and she wants that to keep happening and B) Loki doesn't have anyone who he can relate to across the board - in magic, in family, in belonging, in age - and he loves his brother best; someone who he has the capacity to love so greatly, as a girl, seems to him his logical sister. **

**And, yes, I do kind of want to throw in some Loki babies. They're necessary and I love them. **


	12. Chapter 12: Plans

**And, now, because I cannot _not_ procrastinate, it seems, we have Chapter Twelve.**

* * *

_Twenty months later..._

Loki, now eight, slid a fat leather-bound tome through a green channel to Angrboða through the golden shield his mother constantly held up. Sometimes he wondered if she could feel it, as he could whenever his magic touched something, but Frigga never let on. "This one is much more complex than the last, 'Boða, but the meter is more fluid. You'll like it." He smiled, soft, and stroked her thick hair off her cheek. "Some of them will make living here much more pleasant."

Angrboða smiled and kissed the pad of his thumb, grateful. "I will not be staying, Loki."

"I will make sure of it." Quickly, Loki retreated, running through the halls in the quiet hours of near-morning. He'd nearly made it to his room when he bumped into Sif.

Rather than smacking him upside the head, as she would have done to any of her warriors, she smiled. "Hello, Loki." She rocked on her feet, dark locks swaying, and she smiled a soft, berry-pink smile. "I, er, I have something for you."

Loki smiled. "My birthday was months ago, Sif, you needn't..."

"I know, only I just got back from my father's crusade, and... I wanted to give you this." She held out one small, pale hand, thumb shiny-pink from where she'd chewed the cuticle, and unfolded her fingers to reveal, nestled in the crook of her palm, was a glittering golden bead about as big as her thumbnail.

"Is he making you do this? As was with Thor?" Loki pushed a few dark locks off her forehead, smiling kindly, and welcomed her into his room.

"Thor is as a brother to me," Sif said, sitting down next to him on his bed, pressing the bead into his palm. "You... I could be your warrior-wife."

Loki tucked his arm around her shoulders and she slumped onto him, head buried in the hollow below his chin. In the past few months, he'd shot up like a weed - still skinny as a reed and thin enough to run between raindrops, but a solid foot taller - and now, the ten-year-old fit comfortably in his arms.

"I... Sif. I am planning something, and I cannot... Were I to wear that, and mark us as promised, and go through with my plan, you would be punished; if I were to stay, my life would be unbearable - and not for being with you. There are extenuating circumstances."

Sif nodded, still pressing herself into his chest. "It is Odin, isn't it." She didn't need to ask; over the years, she had watched Loki shrink and wither, watched him shy away from Odin where once he'd adored the man, watched him jump away from contact he'd once gone out of his way to earn. "He's hurting you."

"That is not of import. My condition is immaterial." Loki pulled away to look at her properly, legs crossed, clasping her tiny hands in his like a peapod covering the delicate legumes within, precious and growing and green. "He took a child, four months after Thor's birthday. He took a child and killed her family without reason, and he has been torturing her since in the prisons below the palace. She is my friend.

"She is my friend, and he is driving her mad with pain, trying to decode the workings of magic within her - ostensibly, within all Frost Giants - through merciless torture." Loki's eyes blazed, silver tongue dull with honesty.

"She is a Jotun? Loki - " Sif pulled at his hands, a look of disgust overtaking her fine features, pert nose wrinkling.

Loki shook his head, kissing the joints of her wrists, her temples, hugging her tight - anything to soothe her into listening. "She is innocent of all violence other than what has been done to her, Sif, and she is my friend. I have promised her her freedom and she has suffered more than she ought have."

Sif stilled, curling over his shoulder, fists tightening in his sleeves. "You promise me she is not wicked? She will not harm anyone once freed?"

"No, my warrior," Loki whispered, kissing her hair. "She will return to her broken homeland and live peacefully in the snow."

Sif remained there, tucked into him, for almost an hour until she spoke. "I do not want to keep a child in bondage. You will rescue her, because you are good and kind and strong, and when you return, I will offer you our future, and then, you can decide."

Loki smiled, the sleek angles of his face melting into a beatific grin. "You are a wise girl, Sif. You will be a great ruler one day." Sif beamed back, fighting a yawn. The pressure of it made her lips quiver, and Loki laughed quietly. "Sleep, now, my friend. You've traveled a long day and waited a longer one."

Sif acquiesced, flopping back onto Loki's mattress and pulling him with her, snuggling into his chest. Loki slung one arm over her waist, chin tucked over her shoulder, and fell asleep with her.

Thor, back from a week-long hunt with Odin and his warriors, crept quietly into his own room, expecting to find Loki curled up in his blankets, but his bed was empty. Careful, he picked his way into Loki's room.

And there, curled into each other like the spirals of a shell, Loki and Sif slumbered peacefully.

Thor frowned, confused beyond reckoning, and sat down beside Loki's bed, combing one hand through his curls. "We are bound together, my brother. You have always said as much."

Loki rolled over, away from Sif, and nuzzled Thor's wrist; their friend huffed, clinging to Loki's waist, and sighed happily. Something warm and bright bubbled in Thor's chest at the cool touch of Loki's cheek; no matter what, Loki would choose him. He always would.

* * *

**Wowie, look at me, concocting a plot and ****everything! Ain't I special?**

**So, yes. Sif has a crush on Loki. If you don't like it, don't worry. It's not endgame. If you do like it, some of these chapters are right up your shippy little alley. And there will be a lot of thinly-veiled angst under some sweet cotton-candy fluff. But, hey, c'est la vie! **

**Read and review, please!**


	13. Chapter 13: Lessons

**My sister has not reviewed since Chapter Eight. This means war.  
(Except not because unfounded war is dumb and casualties are terrible no matter what.)  
So, instead, I'll just waste yet more time writing fan fic. I had a NaNo. I have homework. Blerg. **

* * *

_Later that day..._

Loki sat high in the rafters, knotting together yards of golden rope to form a new net for Sif. As willful and wily as she was, the simple tool always ended up a weapon and, as such, always ended up destroyed; he saw it only fit to remake his old gift whenever its last incarnation wore thin.

"Loki!" Frigga called, slipping gracefully through the halls. "My son, you have a lesson today!"

"Coming, Mumma!" The eight-year-old leapt down, clinging to his unfinished net, and hugged Frigga tight as greeting. "I was unaware of this. I thought my schooling had been completed years ago." Unlike most Asgardian children, Loki had finished his basic education by age three, rather than six, leaving him more than enough time to adventure with his brother and train in spellcraft with his mother.

In truth, she'd taught him more than just magic. He'd learned his combat skills from her - the strengths and weaknesses of a body and how to manipulate them to one's own advantage. He was not Odin's son; he'd clarified as much every night for years. Whosoever had, in fact, sired him was not his father, either, abandoning him to the steamy heat of Asgard.

But he was, and would always be, Frigga's son.

"This is on the subject of ruling," she said, frowning slightly. There was a bitter taste on her tongue; Loki, still, looked like a child in her eyes while Asgardian custom dictated that he was, in fact, becoming a man. By Vanir standards, he was still a child, for another two years; by Jotun standards, he would remain her baby until he was sixteen. "On the conduct of an adult in power."

Loki's eyes lit up. Power, strength, status - respect. He wanted it - craved it, depended on the future he foresaw which was predicated upon his possession of it. "Thank you, Mumma!" he chirped, kissing her cheek before dashing off to the war room.

When he was young, he'd often played there, strategizing battles against Thor; while Thor was a warrior, Loki would always be a general, a leader, at heart. He seldom lost.

There, he found one of their half-brothers, Baldur, smiling from behind the wide table. "Hello, little one."

Loki did not have many memories of the man before him. Baldur had married before the war, moved to his wife's realm before Loki's birth, and Thor, more than ten years his junior, had idolized the man. Loki, himself, had seen him only a few times, and recalled only a tall, handsome man with kind brown eyes. "Baldur!" Despite the fondness he had for his half-brother, Loki wasn't as readily affectionate as he could have been.

Thor arrived moments later, grinning, cheeks flushed. "Brother!" He threw himself into Baldur's lap and hugged him, beaming. "It has been years!"

"I know, little one. The time would have been shorter, but I had not the time to visit until now." He stroked Thor's hair, feeling the little braids in his hair and the bead that hung from one, eyes widening fractionally. "I am honoured to teach you the ways of reign, brothers."

Loki smiled widely. Brother. Despite having met the man but twice, he was worthy of being Baldur's brother.

They sat in that room for ages discussing warfare and politics, things which Loki had long since mastered, before Baldur began speaking of more delicate matters.

"Thor, you wear a betrothal bead," Baldur said, gesturing at his dark little bead. "You know what this means, yes?"

Thor nodded. "My father and the Lady Sif's think it a beneficial move; 'tis my duty as heir to perpetuate the mighty kingdom of Asgard."

Loki tightened his hand around Sif's bead, pressing his knuckles to his lips. "I... Baldur, I have been offered one, as well." He held out his palm, as Sif had, unfurling his long, deft fingers to reveal the glittering golden sphere.

"'Tis not a binding arrangement, little ones," Baldur explained. "That is why you wear so many braids. Each one is an opportunity to be betrothed, to wed, but the beads are unofficial. When you are truly engaged, your wife will tug 'pon your braids, and you hers, and you shall be claimed for one another."

Thor's face shifted. He and Loki pulled on each other's hair constantly, mutually; it was a sign of affection - he loved Loki, and Loki loved him - but it was not a claim. Not a marital claim, anyways. Just fraternal.

Wasn't it?

Thor loved his Loki, would lay his life down for his brother. He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with Loki, side by side, ruling.

That was what husbands and wives did, he realized. A roiling, acidic feeling filled his stomach and he tightened his fists over his gut, trying to push that sensation down. He felt like he was going to be sick.

All the while, Baldur explained the significance of hair in three of the Realms, focusing on Asgard: "For families or friends, stroking hair is a sign of affection - like hugging. Our scalps are especially sensitive, so gentle touches feel immensely pleasurable, but harsher contact is beyond excruciating."

Loki winced, recalling all the times Odin had rent at his scalp, made him scream in pain. Thor laid a hand on his knee, squeezing comfortingly, apologetic.

"That's why warriors tie up their locks, to keep them from causing undue pain on the battlefield. But amongst lovers, a gentle tug is a very intimate thing. It is possession and adoration and bonding. And the weight of a bead, no matter how small, symbolizes that; that tiny weight is a microcosmic manifestation of a potential claiming."

Loki felt the heft of Sif's bead in his palm, her net in his lap, and wondered how it'd feel to wear that golden weight in his hair. He wasn't as developed as his comrades - as the youngest, that was expected to a point, but now that he was eight and practically a man, he was expected to have, well...

Stirrings.

"For Vanir, this is less important, as their scalps are far less sensitive, but they use their locks as a status symbol. The longer and more elaborate your hair, the higher your rank apparent."

Loki smiled at the memory of his mother's intricate tawny curls, brushing her knees and shining like burnished metal. No one in all the nine Realms could ever compete with her worth - not to him, nor to the universe.

Thor, at his side, was practically choking on his tongue. Terrified of the things he was hearing, he stood,departing the room as swiftly as he could without arousing suspicion.

"Brother?" Loki stood, racing after him until Baldur grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

"He will learn this eventually. Will you stay, little prince, or would you rather chase your squeamish brother?" the handsome man asked, and Loki stared at his hand and he hair that fell in his eyes. Black strands blurring over a shining golden ball, he could feel Sif and Thor both tugging his hair, and he was beyond confused.

Loki sat back down.

"That's my good little brother."

Loki sat and listened to him explain how hypersensitive Jotun scalps were, how quickly they bonded through hair pulling, how it functioned as any sort of bonding - romantic, platonic, familial - and how that made the Jotun inferior, prone to incest and crossed mental paths. Something protective and fierce, serpentine, coiled in his stomach; Angrboða was not some dysfunctional heathen, nor some incestuous beast.

He decided he wasn't very fond of Baldur then, tuning out his half-brother and finishing up Sif's net through the rest of the lesson. When Baldur had finally finished explaining something about promiscuity being unfitting of a monarch, Loki stood, nodded, and left. He found Thor sitting, head tucked between his knees, on his bed, sucking in heavy breaths.

"Brother? What is wrong?" Loki asked, near-frantic.

Quietly, Thor whispered, "_I_ am wrong."

"If this is anything to do with Baldur's _lesson,"_ Loki spat, "you are mislead. You are perfect, brother, and those who are wise love you as you are." Loki flung his arms around Thor's neck and hugged him tight, fingers tangled in his hair and gently, instinctively, tugging.

Thor melted, hugging Loki back just as tight. Perhaps, just for now, he could imagine he was not disturbed; for now, he could pretend that the way he felt for his little brother was normal.

* * *

**Yerp. I went there. **

**There's something funky with one of my lungs, and it hurts in a wide range from dull ache to "Help, help, someone's stabbing me in the thorax, it hurts so bad, kill me, please, for the love of god, kill me!" I'm probably fine. I'm probably just being a whiney little crap. **

**Baldur was one of Odin's children - surprisingly (read: sarcasm) not with Frigga. He was the most handsome man to exist ever, so, there's that. **

**The hair stuff is, as always, made the frack up.**


	14. Chapter 14: Jealousy

**And, again, I write more because I gots no life. Yay, ****me!**

**To the reviewer who recommended I get my lung checked out, thank you for your concern, you sweet person. *hugs* I went to hospital, and they said it was probably a musculoskeletal issue and should be fine by Thursday; if it isn't, then I'll be taken in for observation for a few days. And there will be loads of Sif/Loki. And Angrboða/Loki. And Svaðilfari/Loki. Basically, I'm packing in the ships, because, as my name suggests, I ship it all and then some.**

**Warning: Dub-con kissing between a pubescent girl and a pre-pubescent boy.**

* * *

_Three months later..._

Thor had all but stopped touching Loki's hair. Loki hated it. He missed warm, rough fingers against his scalp, against his curls; he missed sleeping in Thor's bed and soaking in his impressive body heat.

He missed his brother.

Thor, obviously, did not feel the same; any time Loki came near him, he flung himself away as far as he could without arousing suspicion, ranging from the other side of their group of friends to the other side of the Realm.

Loki shrank away after a while, deigning to spend time only with Sif, Angrboða, the horses, the books, and his mother. Occasionally, he would venture out with the Warriors Three, but he and Thor stayed on opposite sides of every pathway. Even Svaðilfari avoided Thor, nostrils flaring and broad hooves gnashing even the most solid of ground to rubble when the thunderer was near.

With every passing day, he bent into his tomes - maps of the Realm, of the castle, of the dungeons - and plotted what would become an airtight escape plan for himself and Angrboða. One day, they would free themselves from Odin, from the oppressive opulence of the Aesir courts, and once Loki had secured Angrboða a safe, hidden dwelling on Jotunheim, he would return.

He had, really, only three reasons.

The first: _Mumma would miss me if I left forever._

The second: _I have promised Sif to accept her proposal once I rescued Angrboða._

The third: _I am fit to rule Asgard, and one day, I will do exactly that._

Sif sat beside Loki under a wide, dark tree, raking her tapered, strong fingers through his curls and humming quietly, playing with the little betrothal braids Frigga redid every two days. "When you rule, Loki, you will be the wisest general the nine Realms have ever seen," she said quietly, tugging out two knots.

Loki was practically purring in her lap when he replied, "And you, my warrior-wife, will fight glorious battles and come home, safe, to me."

Sif smiled, kissing his cheek. "Because you will protect me most eptly with your magic, healing my injuries before my faculties may ascertain their existence."

Loki rolled over, looking up at her with a soft, sweet, springtime smile. "Of course, my warrior-wife. 'Tis my duty as husband."

"As mage-husband." Her hand, warm and callused and pale, stroked his cheek, thumb skirting around the edges of his lips. "And I will love you, for your studies and for your skills and for your ambition."

"And I you for your bravery and spirit and power. You fight as well as Mumma. No warrior in the Realms could best you."

Sif beamed, pride drizzling down her delicate features like honey, golden and sweet and glistening. "No witch in the Realms could best you."

Loki's cold cheeks flushed warm, and Sif laughed, ducking down. Her hair fell from behind her ears to brush his forehead and chin, silky and dark, and he felt the soft pressure of her pink lips on his and was confused. "Why did you..?"

"Because you will be my husband, and I your wife," she said, blunt, "and this is as husbands and wives do. Practise has made me a warrior of great skill; why oughtn't it make us better suited to wed?"

Loki could not find a flaw in her logic, and he let her kiss him again at her behest. He did not feel a thing from it, and his cheeks did not flush, nor did his heart pound against the cage of his ribs, but Sif seemed pleased. Who was Loki, he who sought to bring smiles to everyone's faces, to deny her something so simple?

Svarðilfari huffed, scraping a forehoof on the forest floor in warning. Loki quickly collected his papers, tucking them into his saddlebags, and chased Sif through the woods as something chased through the clearing.

It bleated loudly enough to shake rocks and Loki fought a grin. One of Thor's goats had come, which meant Thor wasn't far behind.

Loki urged Svaðilfari faster, stagnant air biting against his cheeks with his speed. Sif looked over at him, grinning wildly, and kicked her mare's flank, chasing him down. Eventually, they buried themselves in forestry, the faintest komorebi painting their cheeks, and jumped off their steeds to rest, blissful.

Loki petted Svaðilfari's nose absently as he devoured the grass at their sides, and rested his head on Sif's shoulder. She smiled, wrapping her arm around him, and he soaked in the warmth of her. He couldn't help but think on how he'd seen his mother and father in the same position - with Frigga under Odin's arm. He remembered, once, that Sif had been rigid in her views of the roles of each sex; women worked spells and cared for babies whilst men fought and battled and toiled honorably. Yet now, Sif held him like men held wives, and thought nothing of it, fought as a warrior and judged him not for his siða.

He didn't know when she'd changed, but he was beyond appreciative. Once, very quickly and very deftly, he kissed her cheek.

"Loki?" Sif's cheeks warmed as they had from real kissing; Loki catalogued it, fascinated.

"You do not care that I am... strange. That I prefer books and spells to hand-to-hand combat, that you are holding me like I am female and you are male. I appreciate it. Greatly." He kissed her cheek once more, and she beamed, nudging his shoulder with hers.

"It was your mother," she said moments later. "She saw that I was dissatisfied with my path - with being a placid wife, small and meek and maternal - and she told me, very simply, that I needn't follow it. Why ought I make you play your role when I have long since deviated from mine?"

Loki simply smiled. "Thank you. My warrior."

"Always, my witch." Sif kissed him again, small pale hand creeping up his neck towards his hair, and he flinched.

"Loki?" Her eyes were wide, concerned, and Loki felt a sick twist of guilt within him. Half of him ached for having betrayed Thor - _and why had he, how had he? - _while the other winced for not allowing Sif to do as she pleased; she loved him, and that was so rare, it could not be wasted.

"'Tis nothing." He smiled, hiding his discomfort well, and let her kiss him, let her tug at his locks to her heart's content. All the while, he couldn't help but hope for her hand's replacement with Thor's, small hands and light touches replaced with broad calluses and just enough pressure, and that made him feel all the guiltier.

They left when light no longer crept through the trees, parting ways to sneak into the castle in hopes that the mask of dusk would hide them enough. Sif slipped into her room, into her bed, and off to sleep.

Loki, however, slithered into the training room. Silent, he watched Thor bludgeon a mannequin with Mjolnir and, when his frustration became too great to be vented with barriers between foe and flesh, with hard-knuckled fists. There was something hypnotic about the shifting flex of muscle beneath sweat-soaked gold skin, and Loki stayed silent, watching from the doorway as Thor whaled on the poppet for almost an hour.

"It was you today in the forest, brother, wasn't it?"

Thor's arm went rigid - he went rigid. Loki couldn't be here, he _couldn't. _Thor shook out his arm and swing, hard, popping the mannequin and sending dried grain flying all over the room.

"Do you hate me now?" Loki asked, quiet, every thrashing soliloquy Odin had ever delivered ringing in his ears. Instinctively, he shrunk back, making himself smaller and harder to hit.

"Loki, I - "

Loki cut Thor off. "See, I don't think following someone through the forest is really a sign of abhorrence. I think you must love me, else you'd have chased me down to slay me, rather than giving up and letting me slip away when you saw that I was well. I think you were worried, since I'd snuck out, and you wanted to ensure my safety."

As always, Loki saw straight to the heart of him. Thor was just thankful the eight-year-old didn't know just how _much_ Thor loved him.

"So why have you been ignoring me? Practically abandoning me?" Loki's voice was thick, certainly, but steady. He knew what he was saying, knew what he was doing as he rested one long-fingered hand on Thor's shoulder. "What have I done to upset you so, brother?

"Or do you really hate me now?"

Thor turned away from the shattered husk and shook his head, staring down at the ground because his shame would not permit him to lift his head. "I love you too much, Loki."

Loki's ribs collapsed, releasing the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, releasing all the tension. "There is no such amount of love which can be described thusly." He wrapped his arms around Thor's neck, fingers combing through his hair, and pressed his cold face into the thudding warmth of his brother's chest.

With that sudden kiss of cold, everything in Thor's world brightened into full colour and turned right-side up. He flung his arms around Loki's waist and kissed his hair, breathing him in. "I have missed you, little one."

Loki squeezed his eyes shut and clung tighter. "You oughtn't have left, then." He nudged Thor's shoulder, aching to replace the memory of Sif's delicate touch and deft fingers with broad calluses and hard muscled digits. "I have missed you, too."

Thor, within seconds, complied with Loki's unspoken command and knotted his fingers in Loki's curls, tugging gently. _Perhaps,_ he thought, _if I ignore it and do not act upon it, the feeling will go away, and I will be normal._

* * *

**Komorebi - sunlight filtering through trees; dappled light.**

**So. Here we are, Loki and Thor back to rights. Except for Thor's currently-unrequited unbrotherly love and Loki's plans for a very non-Thor life partner and to run away with a Frost Giantess in secret. **

**And, yes, Sleipnir was a little huffy at Thor's presence. Who wouldn't be jealous if someone you loved was also loved by _that guy?_**


	15. Chapter 15: Daughters

**I'm having a little bit of difficulty connecting the big stuff I have planned to now. And when I say "a little bit," I naturally mean "I am sh*tting myself over how the eff to do this." I mean, do I jump straight to it, which is seven years ahead of now and a lot of cuteness and character development opportunities which might be missed? Or do I just straggle along until I hit an inspiration nodule and go for it.  
(Yes, that's a word: no, it's not noodle. Although inspiration noodles sound awesome, and if muses came in penne form - har ****had, irony much? - I could definitely use some.)  
Anyways, if you lovely people could send me an idea, I would vastly appreciate it. **

* * *

_That night..._

Loki slid gingerly out from under Thor's arm, replacing his body with a pillow as quickly as possible, and kissed Thor's hair before creeping down to the dungeons.

Angrbo_ð_a sat on the ceiling, legs crossed so her feet sat delicately on either knee, and smiled down at Loki, red eyes alight. "Little one! Have you brought good news, or simply more 'progress'?"

Loki smiled, pushing a tunnel of his own green magic through his mother's golden warding and crawling through. It was small, but much easier to keep up than a full-sized door; he wondered how his mother managed to uphold these barriers constantly without collapsing under the strain. He was always exhausted and famished after visiting his captive friend.

"I have good news, sister," Loki replied, laying out on his back with his own skinny arms pillowing his head, as Thor's often did. They were a poor facsimile, but for the time being, they would suffice. "I have a plan. It will work quite well, too - 'tis foolproof."

"Those involved in our capture - your mother, for her magic binding me, and the captain of the guard - are no fools, little one." She reached down a cool, blue hand, stroking his scalp. "I am quite thankful, sometimes."

"Why? What have you to be thankful for? You are imprisoned, and have been for, now, three years." Loki curled up, burying his face in his knees. "I am to blame for the duration of your stay, I know. Too, I know what Odin does to those he holds no fondness for, and you have earned none of it."

"Hush, brother," Angrboða whispered, black fingernails raking over his scalp. Loki practically purred, tipping his head into her touch eagerly. "I am thankful that I am yet so young as to not freeze you on contact. Once a Jotun is twenty years of age, and has children to care for, their skin is somewhat dangerous for those who are not, themselves, from our frozen Realm. Were I older, I could never touch you."

Loki, assisted by his own magic, settled onto the ceiling beside her. Angrboða was a tactile creature, constantly craving contact; Loki understood that. He had always been eager to display his affection through touch, and after Odin's disgust for him had grown, it became a need. Someone had to replace the words of hate ricocheting through his head with honest adoration and kindness, had to replace invisible bruises and scars with the gentle pressure of arms around him and hands in his hair. He shuddered to think of a world in which neither of them could receive such a balm and hugged her tight. "I am thankful, too. You are my sister, and I will not let you stay here any longer than is necessary."

Angrboða smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Loki." Resting against each other, heads layered like pans resting in a cupboard. "Now, tell me of your plan."

Loki began to unspool his idea, filling the air with shimmering green copies of texts and records, explaining every detail coolly. Angrboða grinned all the wider, sharp canines gleaming dully.

"My little strategist," she said proudly, raking her fingers through his hair once more. He was quite sensitive for an Aesir, even for a Vanir, if he took after his mother. It was endearing. Her middle and ring fingers caught on something, and she leaned back to look.

Small and hard and glittering, a gold bead sat nestled in his curls.

"Brother, what is this?" she asked, gently bringing the strand around for him to look at.

"It is a betrothal," Loki said. Somehow, here with the Frost Giantess, it felt too thick on his tongue, too heavy. "My friend - the Lady Sif - she is a great warrior, and we are intended for one another. I was only wearing it to sleep, to feel the weight of it."

"How will you marry a woman when you are in hiding with me?" Angrboða let the bead drop as if it burned her. She sometimes forgot how common it was for nine-year-olds to be engaged - sometimes to be married - in this gilded city. It always made her stomach reel.

"I have promised her that I will return," Loki whispered. "This kingdom... I am fit to rule this Realm, and I know that with me on the throne, it will be a truly good place. I can broker a true peace between Asgard and Jotunheim, between all the Realms."

Very quietly, as if the sound had lost all vigour in climbing out of her throat, Angrboða said, "Oh."

Shame curdled, thick and sour, in Loki's stomach. "It is not a real betrothal until I return from ensuring your safety. I am sorry - "

"No. No, it is... it is wonderful. Little brother, you will make a fine king someday." She kissed his cold cheek and dragged the corners of her cerulean lips upwards. "And any woman you deem fit to be your queen will be just as fine a regent."

They sat, still and silent, for a few moments before Loki felt a quiet sort of snip. Reeling, he spun around and saw that his tunnel had vanished.

He was trapped.

Immediately, he threw himself against the golden field keeping him in that cell. It was too small, too crowded. He couldn't _breathe. _He only stilled when Angrboða's arms dragged him back, clinging tight to his waist and elbows, halting all movement. "Be still, little one. You will hurt yourself, and no magic is strong enough in here to heal you should you be injured."

Loki sucked in deep, shaky breaths, forcing himself to calm down. As his breathing slowed, grew steady, an idea trickled through his brain. With a quiet verse, he pressed his lips to the warding and whispered, "Mumma, please, deliver me from captivity."

Angrboða watched, jealousy lapping at her like choppy waves. With a few words, he could be freed by his mother. She had no mother. No words could free her. She had been in bondage for three years and she had suffered too heavily to ever redeem the time stolen from her.

Within moments, Frigga was there, soft blue robe fluttering behind her. "Oh, my sweet little one, what are you doing in here?"

"She is my friend, Mumma," Loki sobbed, reaching for her through the warding even as his fingertips burned and bled. "I was only talking to her and my control, it slipped, I lost my doorway."

"I know, my baby. I could feel you, every night you crept in, but why?" Frigga killed the warding and bundled Loki into her arms, kissing his hair.

"She does not deserve to suffer, Mumma. She does not deserve any of this. I want... I want to help her."

Frigga frowned, looking him over. No sign of blue skin; perhaps he did not know of his birth. Perhaps he still felt some semblance of a home here, safe and loved by enough people to stay, unquestioning.

"She is my sister."

"Loki, there is a difference between friendship and family," Frigga said quietly, healing his hands. Odin had not mentioned slaughtering Laufey or Farbauti in the raid which had brought them the girl, and he would have celebrated all the harder for it if he had. She could not be Loki's sister. "She is your friend, is she not?"

"Yes, but Mumma, she has no other family, and I love her as I love Thor. Why can she not be my sister, too?" Loki twisted toward the Frost Giantess, reaching for her.

Frigga kissed his hair once more before leaning in to kiss Angrboða's. "Let me know before you visit her, sweet child, and I will drop the warding for you."

The little Jotun girl's cheeks flushed violet - a rather pretty colour, banded with lilac where raised lines cut across her face - and she whispered, "Thank you, Lady Frigga."

"You may call me Mother, little girl, or Mumma, if you wish. Loki is my son, and you are as his sister. Therefore, you are my daughter now, too."

Angrboða smiled and she threw her arms around Frigga's waist. "Thank you, Mumma."

"Now, to bed with both of you," the Allmother managed, voice thick. "'Tis the middle of the night, and the both of you require more sleep."

Loki scampered away, a buoyant warmth filling the space between his lungs, and Frigga tucked the blankets up over Angrboða's shoulders before she resealed the warding. "Sweet dreams, my daughter."

Silently, she crept upstairs to her and Odin's chambers, replacing her double in bed beneath Odin's arm. Heavy and hot, it weighed on her arm and her ribs. She hated that he tortured a little girl to learn more about their son's abilities. She hated that Odin did so many terrible things and called them acts of heroism.

So many years ago, she had been bright and warm and open, and their marriage had been nothing but happiness; now, his very touch oft turned her stomach.

She wondered if, had Loki stayed amongst the Jotun, he and Angrboða would have been friends.

Loki, in much the same manner, crept into Thor's bed and curled up against his chest. "Brother?"

Thor grunted, one hand finding its way into his hair.

"You would love our sister, would you not?"

A quiet huff, warm lips against his forehead, sliding as Thor nodded.

Loki twisted his hands into Thor's locks and tugged. "Good night, my brother." He smiled into Thor's skin. His brother seemed to believe one could love too much; that, to Loki, was impossible. Thor loved everything the sun had once and would ever touch, and Loki thought that seemed perfect.

* * *

**Yes, Frigga is wonderful, isn't she? **

**Review for all the schmoop and foreshadowing in this chapter.**


	16. Chapter 16: Families (1)

**Hello. Again. I'm not in the mood to do homework I already should have finished, which is terrible of me, and I have no new ideas for Tug that can bridge between nine-year-old Loki and sixteen-year-old Loki. AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!**

**I've been inspired by one specific review and all the music I've listened to in the past five days, and I've decided to jump forwards. Loki is sixteen, Angrboða is eighteen, Frigga is wonderful.**

**While I wrote this, I listened to Scarlett Johansson's cover of Summertime. Precious, priceless, perfect.**

**Warnings: References to puberty, boners, heterosexual sex, childbirth, postpartum depression, sort of!hate sex, and Odin being an abusive dick shit.**

* * *

_Seven years later..._

Sixteen, for Loki, felt much the way he imagined eight had for his friends. His skin was too tight, every touch scalding and sweet, like caramel that had yet to cool in the pan.

Mumma, as always, had walked him through it. _You are more Vanir than Aesir, my son, and you __have always bloomed late. You are no different than any other approaching adulthood._

Loki was fairly certain that other adolescents weren't blistered by the tightness of their skin, of their leggings. He'd watched Angrboða suffer it years earlier, delicate horns blooming from her forehead and high ridges stretching yet higher off of her smooth skin, the slightest of curves adorning her scant frame. Frigga had taken to making her clothes, as she had nothing left that fit from when she'd first arrived, and her favourite seemed to be a fascinating dress of red and black, dully shining and clinging to her as does skin.

It all came back to skin. Loki was fascinated now - by the smooth, pale expanse of Thor's nape below the stretch of his blond locks; by the delicate feel and give of Sif's flesh beneath his hands; the way it looked, tasted, _smelled_.

"Be safe, my boy," Frigga whispered. She kissed Loki's forehead, felt the iciness of him even as his pale cheeks coloured; it was so hard to hide from him now, falsely green eyes too perceptive for their own good. He deserved to know that he was of ice and perseverance, rather than of sunlight and belligerence. He was a proud boy, of a proud people; he deserved to know as much.

But it was forbidden, and so her tongue remained locked on the subject, trapping it away from her lips, where it could be articulated and expelled.

"I will, Mumma."

With that promise, an oath sworn in words unspoken, Frigga lowered the warding on Angrboða's cell.

Loki blinked, appearing outside her quarters with a hand outstretched to help her down, and they ran to the stables under the cover of darkness and the cloak of their magic, ice-white and green blanketing their surreptitious trip.

Loki quickly mounted Svaðilfari, but the stallion looked at Angrboða suspiciously. His huffing, whinnying distaste threatened to rouse the whole castle, so Loki dismounted, looking for another steed.

Thor's dragon egg, years old and yet unhatched, sat in a velvet nest, waiting. As Angrboða's eyes fell to it, her cheeks bloomed an exhilarated violet and she reached for it. "Do you know what this is, my Loki?"

He watched the slender stretch of her wrist, the delicate strength with which she cradled the egg in her cupped palms, and felt his skin erupt in pleased gooseflesh at the possessive. _My Loki._

"A dragon. High rank, ostensibly, with the diamond egg."

Angrboða shook her head, grinning. "No, sweet prince. 'Tis a wyrm of ice, not of earth. This beast shall bear me home." She whispered an ancient verse, soft and silken and sweet, and the egg shattered into snow.

Fluttering before her with wings just-dried was a hatchling roughly the size of a full-grown mare, sporting sleek scales of ice-blue and -white and beautiful silver eyes.

The Giantess pressed a soft kiss to the dragon's brow and it sighed like wind rushing over snow, tension leaking out of its body, which lengthened considerably.

"Skaði," she decided, straddling the dragon's shoulders quickly. It meant loss, damages, grief. She found it only fitting that the bringer of grief ride it. "Up now, my precious beast. Deliver me home."

Three earth-shattering flaps and she was airborne. Loki's dry, tight throat convulsed, the memory of her straddling hips etched into his eyelids, and urged Svaðilfari onwards, keeping pace with the dragon.

In eight days' time, they reached the outskirts of Jotunheim; through Heimdall, the trip would have taken seconds, but it was too dangerous. Too visible.

Instead, they rode ceaselessly through backdoors and wormholes, Angrboða guiding Loki to each one as he committed them all to memory by the indigo curve of her lips. Once they reached the snow, Loki threw up a quick shelter and ushered those who wished for lodging in. Skaði stayed outside, vigilant, while Svaðilfari stayed as far from Angrboða as he could.

The Giantess curled into Loki's chest, stroking from the roots of his hair to the peak of his clavicle, starved for touch as he was.

"It has been a hard ten years, my beautiful witch," he said quietly, as if afraid of disturbing the snow-dusted hush.

"But now we are freed." She grinned, twisting to look him in the eye. Red and green locked on each other, as focused as a hand throwing a dagger, and one knee slid over Loki's thighs.

He could feel how cold she was over his hips as she straddled him and swallowed. "How free are we?" He stroked one horn from root to tip, marvelling at her response - flushed cheeks, quickened breath, a quiet moan. That same hand slid through her hair, tangling against her scalp, and his thumb stroked her cheek reverently.

"Not as free as we could be," Angrboða husked, tugging herself in closer by a hand on his waist. "You, still bound by that lump of metal in your pocket - " She squeezed her thigh against Sif's bead, and Loki's heart began to throb.

"Or am I simply pleased to look upon you?" he retorted, kissing her jaw.

She moaned louder; Svaðilfari huffed. With the wave of a hand, Loki threw up a wall of snow. _So we shan't be distracted._ "And I, sweet silver-tongued prince, by these garments."

Another wave.

She was beautiful, bared before him like this; sky against snow, white on blue.

"This," and he nudged her inner thigh with his hip, letting her once more feel the bead, "means nothing until I return. Until that day I set loathsome foot on Asgardian soil once more, I am as bound as the wind."

It was enough, in that moment, a promise of stolen time so precious as not to be wasted on negotiations. And the stars, he would rush into her, through the skin of her, making her oceans boil with sensation, and when she could endure no more ecstasy, she puffed up her cheeks and blew out his name to the sky.

As the time passed, Angrboða's stomach grew swollen and hard. Loki was beyond enthralled by the growth, the life, within her; Angrboða, however, was not. Sixty four days of anger and fear and constant, rampant hunger on her part, and finally, her stomach was sleek and flat and in Loki's arms nestled a wolf pup.

"Would you like to see our son, beloved?" he asked, stroking the red wetness from his son's fur. He didn't know why their progeny was a wolf, but he didn't particularly care. He loved his child no matter the shape he took.

"No. I do not wish to look upon the beast that ate from my stomach and grew from my fatigue. You may name him, for he is too much trouble to cope with now." Angrboða rolled onto her side, white magic cleaning and dressing her before Loki had the opportunity to offer. "Name the beast. The best we can give him is a name." She didn't know why she hated her offspring so much. She only knew that, looking upon its' lupine features, a hollow sickened feeling filled her and she had to look away.

"Fenrir," Loki decided, curling around the pup. "Our sweet son. You are much loved, my boy. And always shall you be."

It was just over two months that the cub had dwelled within Angrboða, and it took as long before he was independent, prowling over the ice flats and returning with fresh slaughters, green eyes alight with pride. Loki, who never had been fond of meat, forced himself to eat it for survival, for the gleeful yips of his son as Loki praised his skill.

It took two months before Angrboða fell pregnant once more. Her stomach barely grew this time, but at the first sign of it, she pushed Loki away from her as he attempted to kiss her cheek. "You are poisonously fertile, my prince. I am not some broodmare to be filled and whelped with your monstrous litters."

Still, she curled into his chest at night and kissed him, stroked his skin, loved him. And when an egg fell from her, rather than a child, she ceded to hatch it herself, hugging it to her beneath furs, warming its fragile self and singing songs as old as the ice.

Loki, for that month, took the form of a wolf and hunted at his son's side. Any hint of warrior spirit in him bloomed that month. He killed and fought and took. _If only father could see me now, _he sometimes thought. _Not so worthless now, am I? In a barren realm, I am providing for my son and my __lover and our unborn child, and I sacrifice no modicum of affection towards them to do so. _

In that month, he began to realize that he was better than Odin.

And then, a pearl-white membrane was punctured and, from within, out slithered a small snake, red and black and beautiful.

Once more, Angrboða let Loki name their child, and he said, softly, "Jormungandr, my sweet second-born." The cold was not of benefit to the reptile, who fussed limply when he could muster up the energy to move, so his mother deigned to cover him in a warming charm. Perpetually heated, he moved freer, and their home - now solid, a real building rather than a snow fort for children; a home - was once more empty.

"You do not seem to enjoy having children," Loki said, quiet. He could not imagine anything but joy when faced with the memories of his boys; he thought of nothing but their family. The gold bead in his pocket went forgotten; the hand of his brother in his hair was seldom thought upon.

"I lost my family once before," Angrboða replied, taking his hand without meeting his gaze. "I do not wish to feel that pain again. How can I mourn a family I do not let myself love?" If she were Loki, her tongue would have shone a brilliant star-lit silver.

"I will not let them come to harm, beloved." Loki kissed her forehead, right between the horns, and she melted into him. "I will protect them as a father ought."

"You are a better man than he who raised you, my prince."

Once more, oceans boiled with sensation and stars were serenaded with breathless epithets - Liesmith, Silver Tongue, Loki. And for a few weeks, they were happy.

Until Angrboða's abdomen distended with life and her insides grew fetid. Nine months crept by slower than glaciers, and as soon as she heard the first cry, she wiped herself clean of any trace of motherhood and said, "Our daughter's name is Hela." With that, she stood and dressed herself, kissing Loki a silent goodbye, a plea for absolution of transgressions yet to breathe. "I love you, my prince."

Loki, stunned, beamed as if she had hung the stars for him. Cradled against his chest was a little girl, hair as dark and curly as his, with eyes as verdant as her home was cold. From her little girl waist down, however, her body was grey and fetid, rotten. Dead. No matter what verse Loki chanted, no matter how loud or how fervent, her legs did not move.

"I care not," he whispered, kissing her stomach to make her laugh. "You are my littlest one, my precious daughter. And one day, when you are grown, you will find someone who loves you as I do, and your limbs will not be of import. You are perfect, and let those who say otherwise suffer miserably."

Angrboða rode into Asgard, proud and unyielding. Just over a year had passed, but she wore twenty well. Striding into Odin's chambers, she smiled. "Allfather, I believe I have something you want."

She had no family. She had grown without one; she did not want one or need one. The part of her which, if nurtured by love, would have, in return, loved her children was instead stony and cold.

She saw nothing but the injustice of it all - Loki, who had a loving mother and brother; Loki, who had friends; Loki, who had freedom; Loki, who now had a family of his own, three little monsters to squall for his unending attention, which he all too gladly gave - and sought the swiftest retribution possible.

Once Odin had heard her story of a wayward son and his monstrous bastards, he set a course for Jotunheim and informed a search party of his most trusted men. With that matter settled, he cleft her head from her neck and displayed it on a stake before the gates.

Loki, Realms away, hummed unknowingly to his children. Fenrir sat at his feet, head rested in his lap; Jormungandr was draped 'round his neck; Hela, cradled to him, slept the peaceful sleep of a tired infant.

With a flash of gold, Frigga appeared to him. "My precious son, you must flee. Odin and his soldiers bear down upon you now. They wish... nothing pleasant. Save yourself, your children. Run."

Loki had bundled Jormungandr and Hela to him in an instant, mounting Svaðilfari and charging off seconds later with Fenrir at his side. "Thank you, Mumma."

"The only thanks I need is your safety, and that of your brood." She did not say that Angrboða had betrayed him. She did not say that Angrboða was dead. "Now! Go!"

Svaðilfari rode harder than he ever had before, feeling his Loki's urgency in the tightness of his thighs. Loki had cared for him, and in spite of his dalliance with the cold-hearted one, he had been ever-faithful to the stallion.

Svaðilfari loved the Liesmith with all his equine heart.

But that was not enough, and within days, they were captured.

Odin sent him flying into the snow, one fist grasping his curls and _pulling. _Pain blistered through Loki, but he did not break.

"You may hurt me as you wish, Allfather, but you may not harm my children!" he roared, and fire filled him, melting the snow around his body.

Fenrir growled, biting at Odin's hand. _This was wrong_, he thought. _No one is allowed to hurt Papa._

"I am the Allfather, whelp, and I shall do as I see fit!" A harsh, ringing slap filled the silent, snowy skies, and Thor ran from the back of the mob up to his brother. Quickly, Odin relinquished his grasp.

"Brother, it has been a year," Thor whispered, sinking down to hold Loki tight. "Why did you leave us?"

"I had to do what was right," Loki replied. "I did my duty, by my children and by their dam."

The thunderer looked up and saw the pup, the snake, the curious-eyed infant. Jormungandr moved sluggishly now, his mother's charm broken by her death; Hela, however, looked up at Thor and crossed her eyes, puffing out her cheeks and wiggling her hands. It felt like a punch to the gut, and Thor was swept away by the memory of holding his little brother for the first time. "Brother, I am so sorry. A woman came to us today. Angrboða. She said she had borne your bastards and had come to reap the rewards of retribution."

Loki's stomach plummeted into the Void. _No. No. She couldn't have._

"Brother, I am sorry. She is dead."

_"No!"_

"Thor, you are disturbing him in his already addled state," Odin said quietly. "Go home. All of you, return to Asgard. Tell them we are victorious."

Shoulders slumped, Thor complied, leaving his weeping brother in the snow. The soldiers followed.

"I have forseen terrible futures with your bastards, Loki." The softness with which he had addressed Thor was gone now; Odin's voice was the scrape of granite on granite. "As such, your mutt shall be chained to a rock and set adrift in the Void, to keep safe all existence."

_"No! Father, no, I beg of you!" _Loki could bear any torture, any pain, but this. He could not watch his family be torn to shreds.

"The serpent shall be confined to Midgard, where it will turn the world and waken the tide of the seas."

Loki reached for Odin's hands, desperate now. "Midgard is unevolved, brutal. They will try to hurt him! He is but an infant!"

Odin shook him off and continued. "As for the girl - "

Loki curled around her, clutching her to his chest. "She was born today, Father. Need you rend her from the only carer she retains? She is a child! Your grandchild!"

Odin spat. "_As for the girl_, she will live out her days in the Realm of Sleep. She will feed off of famine and live amongst the dead. The Allfather has spoken."

With that, the Realms obeyed, and Loki watched, helpless, as his eldest was chained to a rock and dropped, like a wishing coin, to the emptiness of the maddening Void.

He watched, helpless, as his second-born was thrown into the seas of a dark and fearful planet, black eyes wide with terror.

He watched, helpless, as thousands of shades converged on his daughter's pale form, eclipsing her, hiding her light from Loki's tear-burnt eyes.

"Mount your steed, you worthless toad," Odin said calmly. "We must return."

As they rode back, two thorny briars wound around his heart, filling it with slow-burning hatred. As always, he loathed Odin - loathed himself for the weakness he had shown.

But, new born, a burning spark of loathing for the race of blue giants roared to life, kindled by the betrayal of his love, his near-wife, his children's mother.

When he returned once more to the golden city, he saw Angrboða's head on a pike and slunk past it, eyes dead with shock. He slumped into Frigga's arms as soon as he saw her, gasping, "Mumma, I'm sorry, I am so sorry - I lost them. He took them from me."

Frigga's heart burned in empathy, but she stemmed it to kiss Loki's hair. "Rest, now, my brave son. You will see far more clearly come the morning."

Loki stumbled to bed in a daze, falling into Thor's sheets and breathing in the familiar smoky, rainy, spicy smell. He tightened his fists in them and screamed into the bulk of the mattress until his throat made no sound. Exhaustion crept in, and as he neared sleep, he felt Thor's hand on him for the first time in a year, tugging at his curls.

"What did Father do?" the thunderer asked.

Loki, less than half-conscious, mumbled, "He fixed it. Like always. Got rid of the problem."

Loki fell asleep crying, arms curled around tiny bodies he would never again hold. Even the mighty Thor was not enough to warm him on that night.

* * *

**I did sort of butcher a bit of seductomyth from Firefly. In the episode, Our Mrs. Reynolds, Saffron attempts to seduce Wash by telling him a bit of sexy Bible verse, which goes: "And the stars would rush into her, through  
the skin of her. Making the oceans boil with sensation. And when she could endure no more ecstasy, she puffed up her cheeks and blew out the sky."  
I thought it perfectly captured the moment - the love these two little orphans have for one another, the beauty that a devirginizing is supposed to have, and the creation of life occurring at the time - Earth-that-was made the stars, Loki and Angrboða made their first baby.**

**I claim no ownership and use that line only in homage. **

**Please now go watch Firefly so you can feel the wonder as I have. **


	17. Chapter 17: Recuperation

**I have too much work to be doing to do another chapter, but I can't stop. I was gonna stay up through the night and then start work at six a.m. on my homework. Ha! Ha! HA HA HA HA HA HA! No! Instead, I fell asleep at five fifteen in the morning, woke up at nine fifteen, and sort of wove in and out of consciousness until twelve thirty. Because I'm a wonderful little creature like that. I've decided that, for every assignment(or part of an assignment) that I finish, I get to write a chapter. **

**So. I hope the last chapter was good for you guys, because writing it... It felt really, really wonderful. And it was about 3500 words, maybe more. It felt good. I hated some of the stuff that happened, sure, because some of the stuff Odin did was terrible. But I feel no shame, because I didn't make him do it! Myth did. **

* * *

_The next morning..._

Loki did not sleep well. The bed was softer than he had become used to, the body holding him warmer, his arms emptier.

That hurt the most. With every breath he took, he felt - very acutely - the loss of every child.

Instead of resting, he rioted in slumber, rolling and twisting and kicking, plagued by nightmares - Fenrir starving, rotting to death and madness, alone in the Void; Jormungandr boiled in the cooking pot of some barbaric Midgardian; sweet little Hela devoured by the starving souls of the dead.

All through it, Thor held him tight and stroked his hair, murmuring his adoration so quietly it felt like part of the dream. It was the only good part, a whispered confession amidst countless echoing cries of pain and abandonment.

When Loki finally awoke, he pressed his face into Thor's chest and sobbed, clinging to the worn-soft linen of his nightshirt. "They were my _family_, brother. They relied on me, and I provided, and I loved them as dearly as I do you, or Mumma. And I failed them. The Norns tested me, they gave me a challenge to face, and I did not protect my children. I am no better than he who took them from me."

Thor had no children of his own, no frame of reference for the loss his little brother must have felt, but empathy had always been his strong suit, and so he held Loki tighter, rubbing his back, and said, "This is not your fault. That woman, the sorceress. She told Father where you took refuge, where your children were. She said she wanted retribution for the years she had lost."

Loki made no sound, trembling in Thor's arms. It was, indubitably, his fault. He had no chance of saving his babies because he had endangered them.

Had he rescued Angrboða sooner, she would not have harbored such a toxic hatred within her; had she not hated him, for the scraps of love he managed to collect into a quilt and wear like armor, she would not have hated their children; had she not hated them all, she would not have turned them over to Odin and left them to suffer.

Really. It was so clearly Loki's fault.

"My Loki, you can shoulder no blame for this. 'Tis unfair to suffer so for crimes which you did not even conceive of committing." Thor's hand in his hair, harder and rougher for a year of bringing storms with the swing of his hammer, was undeservedly nice; Loki squirmed away from it in penance.

A knock came at the door and Loki vanished, transporting himself into his own chambers as one of Odin's servants bade Thor to join his father in the war room.

The Ice Men cometh.

Loki slumped to the floor beside his own bed, digging the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes in an effort to stem the tears that fell from them endlessly. He was weak - too weak to protect his children, too weak to do anything of merit.

Sif bolted upright, and the bed shifted with the force of it. _"Loki!"_ Her arms were around him before he could breathe, her lips on his as if one kiss could make up for the many she had missed in the past fourteen months. "I am so glad of your return, my love. I have missed you beyond a point which words are capable of conveying."

Loki's heart, ruthless, battered every fragment against his throat, bruising what was already broken. He swallowed, pushing it back into his chest, and whispered, "I have missed you, as well. I am certainly glad to see you again." He felt her bead digging into his thigh where hers gripped him, and the pressure of it was a wash of calm over him.

Sif kissed him once more, fingers tangled in his curls. "And I you. Loki, it has been a year. A _year_. I - "

The Ice Men cometh. Odin's serf threw Loki's door open, sneering at the sight of him and Sif intwined in each other's limbs until she stood, all warrior grace, and tightened her hands into fists.

"The Allfather wishes for his second son's presence in the war room."

Loki did not move, rage boiling within him and scalding his skin.

"Immediately."

The silver-tongued teenager rose, hackles following suit, and kissed his warrior-wife's cheek.

"Loki - "

He followed the serf to the war room, the force of his fury shattering marble beneath his feet as he flung wide the door and stalked in. Odin, reclining at the head of the table with Thor stood uncertainly at his side, said, "Well. At last the whore of Jotunheim has joined us."

Odin's men laughed; Thor shifted his mighty weight.

"I may be a whore, but at least I am not a _monster!_" he roared, charging at Odin. "You, who would _kill_ a woman for informing on someone you_ loathe!_ You, who would throw _your own grandchildren_ into the most perilous Realms of the Tree! You dare speak to belittle _me?_ I may not have been able to protect my children from you, but at least_ I did not beat my sons!"_

Odin's magic, dark grey and stiff from years without use, threw Loki into a wall so hard it cracked, denting from his impact. "Be silent, mongrel. The only monster in this room is you. No Asgardian has borne or sired a beast such as you have."

Again, laughter. Loki spat blood, head drooping forward as he was lashed to the wall with Odin's spell. "If I am a monster, Father dearest, what does that make you?"

Odin twisted his hand, and the bonds around Loki tightened, a muzzle sealing over his mouth as wires from within it stitched shut his lips. He could not breathe.

"The Jotun have searched for their Ice Witch for ten years now. Seeing her head has enraged them; now, they seek war with us. We will not let their petty schemes interrupt our peace. Loki will draw their attention and keep them from us. Should he fail, he will be made to take the form of a great cow, and we will roast him in celebration once we win the war."

The room erupted in cheers. Thor, unnoticed, clutched his stomach. He felt sick._ How could Father say such things? How can he harbor such ill will for my sweet Loki?_

"Whelp, do you understand?"

Loki's world was slowly filmed in blackness, spots dancing before his eyes as his lungs heaved for breath that would not come. Odin tore off the muzzle and roared in his face, spittle flecking Loki's cheeks, "Do you understand?" Quieter, he hissed, "Heal your whore mouth."

Loki's stomach rolled. He could remember, very clearly, every time Odin had uttered a command to heal himself in that tone. He remembered every lash of the switch, every bruise, every scar he was not allowed to bear. The worst of the punishment was that he could never prove how he had been harmed, could never speak the truth.

Blood dripped down his chin as he rasped, "I understand. _Father."_

Odin's hand swung at him, and Loki spat hard once more, a tooth coming free of his gums. He quickly healed himself before anyone could see how weak he was.

Even as Odin had stolen his family, Loki had done nothing but cry and beg. Weak. _Weak._

Odin and his men left the war room, backs tall, as if they had done anything worth pride, and Loki swayed where he stood before falling to his knees, gasping for air. Thor rushed to him, holding his brother tight and kissing his forehead, right at the divot down the centre, bone plates colliding like continents to protect his precious mind. Everything about Loki was precious.

"Loki? Loki, can you speak?"

Loki rasped a breath, nodding. "Brother, I am fine. Unhand me. I do not..." _Deserve to be held so gently, as if I am a treasure. Deserve to be touched. Deserve your care, your affection. _

_Deserve your help._

"Yes, you do," Thor said. He could see the grief in his brother's eyes, the great, raw, stabbing pain in him; he felt it, years of loving his sweet Loki paying off in such deep empathy that it scalded him. Loki would not speak, could barely speak, and it was a waste of energy for him to try. "Come. Mother will know what to do."

Loki resigned himself to the indignity of this mode of transport and burrowed into Thor's chest as the thunderer bore him down the hall to Frigga's chambers. _At least Mumma will understand_, he thought. _She will understand this pain, and she will end it._

Thor laid Loki down on Frigga's bed, and she fluttered over him with a loving efficiency that made Loki want to cry. He didn't deserve motherly touches, not when he couldn't care half so well for his own children.

"Physically, my son, you are well," she said kindly, stroking a lank curl off his cheek. "But in here..." She tapped his forehead, tapped his sternum. "You are ailing. You suffer the greatest loss in all the Realms, sweet boy - the loss of love. You have lost the first woman you have ever truly loved. You have lost the three children you loved more dearly than your own life. You have lost the love you managed to have for yourself."

"Why should I love myself when I am too weak to protect them?" he said, hoarse.

Thor blinked. Nearly an hour had passed since Loki had last spoken; his voice was as raw as the wounds his heart bore, rough and dark and mournful. Thor squeezed Loki's hand gently, his broad forehead resting against Loki's hip.

"What worth do I have that I am deserving of any love?"

Frigga wrapped her arms around Loki and hugged him tighter than he had believed possible, so tight that he was helpless to do anything but hug her back. "You are worth all the love on every branch of Yggdrasil, my son, and were I to possess any agency in this Realm, I would bid you to stay here until you understand that."

"I am to ride out tomorrow and defend Asgard," Loki said flatly. "From the Frost Giant scourge. Then, mayhaps, I will have earned a fraction of the love you believe I deserve, Mumma."

Scourge. Frigga wanted to be sick, wanted to flay Odin with one of his beloved linden wood switches. The Jotun were a good people, stalwart and stubborn and smart, loyal and loving and strong. They did not break oaths once they were bound; after Odin's last war with them, both Realms had sworn to coexist peacefully, and until Odin enacted violence upon them as a whole, they would not respond any more than a statue does to a fly landing on its nose. And yet, here he was, urging a broken child to commit genocide unto an innocent race.

"You needn't obey him, Loki," she whispered. "You need only do what feels right. 'Pon your shoulders is a wise and level head. You can do this, sweet son, as violently or as peacefully as need be."

Loki nodded, allowing her to lay him back down. His eyes remained open, but he did not see. He lay, still as death, and watched as his nightmares replayed themselves for him. _I defend Asgard for them. If I am valiant enough, I will earn them back. I will save my family._

"Mother," Thor whispered. "Mother, he did not sleep last night. I do not think he shall ever sleep soundly again."

Frigga kissed Thor's cheek, smoothing his hair back off his furrowed brow. "He is unsteady, and so he cannot rest. But not resting serves only to destabilize him further. This will help." She turned and bent to collect a dark blue glass phial, handing it to Thor. "This will help him to sleep. Let him drink once he is in bed. Keep him comfortable."

It would be beyond foolish to assume that Frigga knew not of her son's affections. Thor had always loved with great intensity, but he had never loved his brothers or his friends in the way he loved Loki. He loved Loki like dying - too slow to see for so very long, and then, suddenly, like a rope snapping.

She also knew that, for all his cleverness, Loki was oblivious to it. Thor had loved him for years and years, but Loki had been a child and loved as a child. Now, both were men. She could only hope that their path was untroubled, as smooth as the Bifrost.

"Thank you, Mother," Thor whispered, bowing deeply before carrying Loki back to his chambers. There, Sif waited as patiently and as faithfully as a dog. Thor could see in the set of her jaw, the strength of her shoulders, that she would have waited until Ragnarok for Loki's return. "He must rest, now." Something sharp and slimy pierced Thor as Loki took Sif's hand and squeezed it to him.

"I will rest with him, then," Sif said. There was no arguing with the steel in her tone, but Thor would not bend.

"I hope only that there is enough room in his bed for the three of us." He pushed the door open and moved past her, laying Loki down in bed and kissing his forehead. Sif slipped under his furs, one arm thrown over his waist as she rested her head on his bony chest. Thor swallowed the envious lump in his throat and held Loki up. "Drink, brother-mine. You will feel better 'pon waking. But now, you must drink and rest."

Loki complied. Perhaps Frigga had poisoned him, he thought drowsily. Perhaps he would die, now, and nevermore face the shame and guilt and pain of his days.

Thor set the empty phial aside and curled into Loki's side, combing through his curls with broad flat fingers. Sif's mouth twitched and she followed suit, kissing Loki softly and watching as Thor's throat tightened.

Loki slept soundly in their arms, the faintest flicker of a smile appearing on his lips when they tugged on his locks.

* * *

**So. That happened. **

**Some of you have been asking about the end game of this fic, ship wise. I am here to say that there are very few ships I will not sail, but that the endgame here is...  
****Undisclosed at this point in time.  
****Loki does get a lot of _loving_ in here. Capital "L". Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. He also has to deal with some pretty heavy crap. Because I do not like to deviate too strongly from my source material and the myths liked to treat Loki like a redheaded stepchild.  
****(Which he actually sort of was. I mean, he was adopted, and he was a ginger. So.  
****Hee hee.)**

**There was some myth used in here; Loki's mouth was, in fact, sewn shut at one point in penance for something. He pissed off a bunch of Trolls and they wanted to cut off his head so he couldn't keep talking. The only stipulation he head? They couldn't hurt his neck. So, after not being able to figure out a way to do both, they gave up and sewed his lips shut for a few months. **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. **


	18. Chapter 18: Bargains

**I'm now basically finished with my ****homework. So. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. THis plan is actually a fantastic motivator, and I am humming with inspiration now that I've jumped forward. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, after all, and this way, I can use memories instead of events. This is just so wonderful, and I thank you all for your readership - even you silent floaters out there. I was once in your shoes, reading without participation, and that's how I got to where I am now: **

**Writing fan fiction between homework segments. **

**Onwards!**

* * *

_The next morning..._

Loki could not remember ever having slept better. Not as a child, dreamless and oblivious to the aching of the worlds; not with Angrboða in his arms.

All around him there was warmth, solid and steadfast and sure as the footing of Thor's goats. To his left, the thunderer burrowed into the space below Loki's chin, mouth soft and snoring quietly against his throat, soft hair against Loki's cheek. Constant, cozy. That faint hint of storm clouds on his skin, the spiciness of the soap he used. He followed Loki like a magnet, like the tail of a comet, and that was powerful; Thor would always be the light that guided, that comforted and cheered his people; Loki was no more than the shadow he threw.

To his right, the great Lady Sif. He felt the hard edges of her leather armor - more for sparring than for real battle, where she'd wear it under her metal plates. That, of itself, stunned him. She had not donned nightclothes, had not thought of her own comfort - only of him. That was to be expected of Thor, who took off his armor to sleep only when Loki had made his way to one of their beds first and was already slumbering deeply, but Sif...

Loki had left her for over a year. He had abandoned her for another woman, sired a family with her, and she still waited outside his door until all hours of the night to assure herself of his well being. He didn't understand that - more specifically, he didn't understand how she could do that for him, how she could be so loyal when he was not.

She hummed quietly, cheek resting against his chest, and he noticed then that the three of them were all breathing at the same time. They followed him, tied the breath in their lungs to him.

This was what his children had done. They had loved as completely as his bedfellows, and they had depended on him. He would not fail them.

He would fail none of them.

He slid out of bed, silent, and dressed in his own armor, tugging stiff leather on over his clothes to guard against metal pinching his skin, pulling plates on over them. He strapped his daggers onto his legs and arms, hiding two in each boot, and grabbed a sword off his wall. He turned to look over at the bed, at the pillow he slept on being grudgingly shared by his brother and his betrothed, and crept silently back.

With the utmost of care that his armor did not squeak or clatter, Loki knelt at Sif's side and kissed her softly. "It will not be so long this time, my warrior-wife. I will return before you feel my absence." She sighed, smiling softly, and one long, pale hand cupped her cheek sweetly, thumb stroking the apple of it with reverence beyond expression as his fingers wove into her dark curls. He stepped around to Thor and kissed his forehead, ran a hand through his hair. "I will see you when you wake, brother-mine. Do not doubt that."

Thor hummed, one broad hand catching Loki's wrist. He turned his head, nuzzling into his palm, and kissed the trickster's wrist slowly.

Loki's cheeks blazed as he left the room. He departed for the stable, mounting Svaðilfari with ease.

_Sir no longer rides with the cold-heart,_ the stallion whinnied. _Good. She was not worthy._

Loki rubbed Svaðilfari's neck fondly before kicking his flank. "She is no longer important. She is dead. What is important is defending my family."

_The bitey one, yes? And the scaley one, and the fleshy one._

Loki huffed a quiet laugh at the description. "Yes. And Thor, and the Lady Sif, and my mother. They are all my family. I love them. And so I will take the consequences of my actions and I will protect them."

_Sir? _

Loki looked down at Svaðilfari, a little jarred by the warmth in his tone. "Yes?"

_Sir is a good man. Honourable. Kind. Sir's family must adore Sir. _

Loki's cheeks flamed and he urged Svaðilfari on faster, riding for any sign of Frost Giants. There was no sign for almost four days, but on the fourth, on the crest of a hill stood a broad, muscled Giant, walking slowly towards Asgard. Loki rode toward him until, with sudden, stabbing realization, he recognized something of the Giant's face - mourning.

He slowed Svaðilfari to an easy pace and stopped before the Jotun. "Who are you? Where is your army?"

"Army?" His voice was rough, chiming through his apparent confusion. "Milord, I am a _builder._ My sister died - we were separated in an Aesir raid nigh eleven years ago, as she wielded the Void's magic and I did not - and I am here to reclaim her body, to bury it as it ought to be buried. In the ice."

Loki saw, then, the similarities. He and Angrboða had the same sharp cheekbones, the same lines on their cheeks and chin, the same round eyes.

"Her body is missing. The Allfather will have already hidden it away from all eyes but his, but her head is at the gates." Carefully, Loki wove him a disguise, a small Vanir, come to repair a crack in their wall. "Take her head and carry it in your satchel. Bury her where you may."

"Thank you, milord," the builder gasped, flinging himself to his knees before Loki's horse. "I will thank the snow for your kindness."

"Ask your snow to see that her children are kept safe," Loki said quietly. "Now, go."

The builder scrambled to his feet and ran.

Loki waited out the day, splitting blades of grass with his daggers and using them to whistle as boredom set in with the sun's setting. No sign of the Jotun army. They were not attacking.

Loki climbed back on Svaðilfari's back and spurred him back to Asgard. He saw the Jotun crouched by the outer wall, spackling a crack, and nodded confidently. _You will have your family, and I mine. All will be righted. _

He settled Svaðilfari into his stable for the night and strode into Odin's throne room, confidence bleeding from his every pore. "There was no sign of the Jotun army, and upon further inspection, I am certain that they will not attack. Asgard is safe."

He turned on his heel and strutted out smoothly, waiting until he was out of everyone's sight before bursting into a sprint. He made it across the palace in minutes, throwing his door open and immediately being crushed between two warm, solid bodies. Sif was faster, moved in tighter, so they were pressed flush against each other with her head tucked under his jaw. Thor, who moved more slowly, flung his thick arms around them both and _squeezed. _

"I did it," Loki whispered. "I did it. We're all safe, everyone is safe."

If at all possible, the arms around him grew tighter, and he wanted to cry. He hadn't fought any battle; he had given a man closure with his family and appeased a vengeful old man and been held tight by two people who loved him so much it hurt sometimes.

"I am so proud of you, love," Sif replied, stretching up to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Loki leaned into it, his hands falling to her waist and the sweet bell curve of her hips, knuckles resting against Thor's inner thigh.

Thor didn't let them down for a few seconds, but he lugged them over to Loki's bed and set them next to him, rubbing Loki's shoulder. Very carefully, he kept his free hand in his lap and his legs only close enough to hide with. He had been practically a man for eight years, and yet the sight of his brother kissing someone - an admittedly beautiful someone - and the feel of his hand was enough to throw his composure. "We are all proud of you, brother. You have done a great, great deed today."

Loki pulled back from Sif and hugged Thor properly, arms tight around his neck. "I did nothing. I watched, I waited. And I will do so every day until the end of days if need be. I will always protect my family." Fever bright, he was beyond determined, invested, obsessed.

Thor nodded, fingers tangling in Loki's hair, and reluctantly let go to divest him of his armor. Sif stood, understanding, and slid off Loki's leathers, giving her friend access to Loki's clothes. Together, they stripped him down and helped dress him in his night clothes, tucking him into bed under the lightest possible sheets. Futilely, they wished Frigga's potion lasted more than a night; getting Loki to sleep was impossible when he was like this.

"You needn't worry," Loki said, eyes gleaming. "I will always protect you. I will protect everyone. And one day, I will get them back. The Norns will see that I am capable, and the Norns will give them back."

"Yes, brother-mine," Thor murmured, stroking a few curls off his brother's forehead as Sif agreed.

"You are very, very brave to do this, my love, and very loyal. All Asgard owes you a debt for this." She sat gingerly beside him, taking his clammy hand in hers.

"No debt. Just them. I will earn them back. You will see." Loki smiled, absent and half-mad, and Sif nodded.

"I have to guard the Allfather's chambers, Loki. He has something in there which cannot fall into the wrong hands, and he wishes me to stand watch," she whispered, shamefaced and reluctant. Every atom of her wanted to stay.

"Do not go to him," Loki hummed. "He will steal the children and throw them away. Hide, keep the children. Hide and hide and hide. Stay with me?"

Thor swallowed. Loki was not as twisted as he; in times of suffering, of loss, any sane and moral creature would turn towards its lover. Of course, Loki did not wish for him to stay. "Sif, if it please the both of you, I will take your place as guard tonight. He... Loki is yours."

"Not always," the warrior murmured, petting Loki's hair softly. "For the longest time, he was yours - 'Bound by the Norns,' he said - and then he was _hers,_" and the acid in her tone was enough to blind, "but he is mine for now. And that is enough."

"Yours," Loki babbled, sing-song. "Yours, yours, yours!" He was triumphant, trembling.

"Yes, Loki. You are mine, and I am yours."

Thor slipped out without so much as a sound. Loki didn't want him, and that was alarmingly acceptable. Thor wanted, first and foremost, for Loki to be happy. Sif did that; Sif was that. Thor would push aside his own jealous and desperate heart, push aside all secondary and tertiary desires, and let his Loki be happy.

Odin ushered him in brusquely, the warm fatherly air he used normally gone cold and stale. "Here we have the body of Angrboða the Ice Witch. We are studying it, discerning the purposes of its parts. This body must not be spoken of outside this chamber."

It was, true and proper, a dungeon. The walls were cold, wet, grey stone spattered with slick green mould, and cold iron restraints hung from the walls. In the centre of the room sat a raised, tilted platform and resting upon it was Angrboða's still, blue body.

"You will not interact with the corpse. You will stand outside this room and you will guard against all trespassers. Those who transgress do so on pain of death. Is this understood?"

Thor swallowed. He wished he had been selfish, let Sif stand as his father's murderer-for-hire and held Loki through the stress-wrought fever flooding him. But this was his duty.

He would hide Angrboða's last secret and he would do it, as Loki had guarded Asgard, for duty.

"Yes, Father."

Eventually, everyone in the room left, and Thor stood guarding an empty room that resonated with the quiet, constant _plip _of leaking, filthy water. There was no honor, no loyalty, in the woman lying on that table - _in her soul, her heart,_ Thor corrected himself, _because she is no longer in that body_ - but no one deserved such disrespect in death.

It was at the deepest, darkest hour of the night that a disturbance arose.

It was a builder, one of dozens repairing aged fault lines in the wall surrounding Asgard, the one who wore that same gaunt, pinched grief as Loki like a shroud. A small copper hammer hung from his belt, as if he thought that would bear him into Odin's dungeon and out again, safely.

"Halt."

He looked up, eyes wide and terrified, before he steeled himself and charged. Small and slight, he ducked past Thor and into the dungeon. Frantic, he began tugging Angrboða's body off the table, but within seconds, Thor was upon him, dragging him away and chaining him to the wall.

"Who are you? Why have you come to steal from the Allfather?"

"Please! Please, she is my sister! I want only to bury her as she ought to have been. I want only to surrender her unto the Void through the snow!"

_Jotun_. Thor pulled his hand back as if he were burnt, as if the frost of a defending Jotun's touch was about to set in and retreating could prevent it. "You come here under false pretenses to steal from the heart of Asgard. The penalty is death, swift and immediate."

"I only wanted to return her to our home! Please! Please!"

Thor's hands trembled on Mjolnir's grip, knuckles white. He screamed and begged like a child, desperate and terrified; Thor wanted to free him, wanted to let him bury his sister and properly mourn. He wanted to let the Jotun live.

And then, insidious and slick, he remembered: Loki flinching at a tug only just too harsh, fear in his eyes; that scurrying, fearful walk he adopted for years; the way he fled from contact and from noise, craving the vibrance of it all and too injured to permit himself to seek it; every fight he did not see and every invisible wound that stung Loki's skin.

He remembered Loki, just before leaving to defend them, bleeding and battered and broken, at Odin's hand.

He did not want that. He wanted, so very badly, to be good - to avoid that suffering, for himself and for his brother. And when he could not protect his Loki from what seemed an inborn loathing of him, he forced himself to forget, because that hurt less.

And then, quite simply, he forgot.

When his head cleared, there was a faint odor in the air - charred meat - and his shoulders felt as if he had just smote a bilgesnipe with one blow. There was a scorch mark on the wall, but something in the back of his mind bade him to ignore it, so he did.

Thor returned to his post and was immediately relieved of his duty by a new guard. He went back to Loki's room and found his little brother sitting cross-legged atop his furs, eyes shut, singing quietly.

"Brother?"

Loki's eyes snapped open, red-rimmed and wet, and he threw himself into Thor's arms. "You're back!" The thunderer closed his arms tight around Loki's waist, felt the starvation of his jutting ribs, and bore him back to bed. Sif lay sleeping on the edge of Loki's bed, frowning at his sudden absence.

"Yes, my Loki. Sleep now. You may ask all you like come morning, only rest."

Unspoken questions died on Loki's silver-tipped tongue and he nodded, blankly obedient and almost cheerful for it. "You will share with me, Thor, won't you?" He laid back, patting the bed next to him. "My bed is too cold when 'tis I alone."

Thor did not mention that Sif shared his bed now, that she was clinging to him just enough to keep him still and calm, that she was just as warm. He toed out of his boots and shrugged out of his armor, sliding in next to Loki and throwing one arm across his chest. His shoulders protested with a dull ache that would, by morning, swell to a roar. "I will share all I can with you, brother-mine."

Loki squeezed Thor's shoulders in his cold hands, rubbing out the soreness even as exhaustion finally took hold and made his eyes flutter shut, no matter how he fought it. "That is enough." He laced one hand into Thor's hair and tugged, smiling, eyes wide.

Thor fought the heat in his cheeks as he closed Loki's eyes for him, hiding from that all-knowing gaze and all the love it held. "You are enough. Now sleep."

And Loki did.

* * *

**This was gonna be the Sleipnir chapter. It, quite clearly, is not. **

**Mythology time! In the myth about Sleipnir's birth, Odin hires a builder to construct a wall around all of Asgard. If he finishes before thirty days are over, he gets paid; if not, they get free labour. He agrees, but asks for the use of his horse, Svaðilfari. Loki allows it, and way before time is up, the builder is almost done. Odin tells Loki he'd better damned well fix this problem he caused, so Loki turns into a mare to distract Wonder Stallion. Svaðilfari gets all hot for Loki and chases him away, leaving the builder high, dry, and out a month's pay. And then, while the consensuality of what happens is unclear, some horsey ****business goes down and Loki has a kid, Sleipnir. Sleipnir has eight legs and is as strong and fast as his father, so Odin steals Loki's son and rides him forever. The builder gets crazy mad, which is justifiable, and reveals his true Jotun form in an attempted attack on the Realm. Thor squashes him like a bug. **

**So. I didn't want to write a rape scene, and I didn't want to deal with alluding to it. I took the cheap route and I will stand by that decision.  
(Loki's little pony comes up in the next chapter, I swear.)**


	19. Chapter 19: Families (2a)

**I've set up a poll. I want to see what my one point six readers think about the endgame ship, because I am dragged by wild horses in three different directions on this one. It's on my profile, but if that's too much trouble, feel free to just review with your choice of ship.  
(The options are, as stands, Thorki, Sifki, and Sorki[Sif/Thor/Loki], but if you have an unrepresented ship, feel free to talk about it.)**

**Speaking of horses, I bring to you, dear readers, the Sleipnir chapter.**

* * *

_That morning..._

Sif woke to the ringing of alarms three seconds before they sounded. There had been a stillness, a fear, in the air that had settled over her skin like dust and she hated it. She had always hated stillness when it wasn't necessary and this fear - this wildfire fear, trapped amongst the warriors of Asgard and the select few who knew what was going on - was decidedly not.

So she sat up, dust blowing away, and scrubbed at her eyes as the bells began to toll. Without having to think, she dressed in yesterday's clothes and started for the door, Thor on her heels and Loki on his.

That strange brightness to his eyes had faded, and Sif was thankful for that. She hadn't been one of the few who had taken care of Loki when he was younger, not like that, and that babbling intensity was more than a little terrifying. He'd been too warm - that was the most unnerving part, the actual fever. He was boiling even to Thor's hot hands, and she hadn't known what to do.

The one time she'd previously seen him caught up like that, burning, they'd both been children, and all six of them were playing in the snow. Loki began burning, and Thor - little reedy Thor, barely wielding his hammer - had packed handfuls of it against Loki's hands and head before carrying him to Frigga and the healers. All she knew to do was keep him cool, and so she had, laying icy-wet cloths over every major heat centre. Thankfully, it had worked, and Loki was better.

Subdued. Quiet. But better.

They ran to the war room and found Odin and the Warriors Three standing around a map of the Realms, magic shining Odin's dull grey. "See, here, the Jotun approach. We must cut them off at the pass, before they ever reach our branch of the Tree."

Loki went stiff, colour draining from his face, and he shoved through the people blocking his view wordlessly. Hands glittering green, he zoomed in on the encroaching Jotun force, jaw setting. "This is my duty. I will go." He took the map, or a copy forged of his own magic, and turned on his heel to depart, running.

"Loki!" Thor cut his eyes at Odin and bit out a barely-respectful, "Father," before bolting after him. Sif nodded, curt and sharp, already out the door, and her men followed.

"Sif! What's going on?" Hogun asked, grabbing her arm. "Loki has been back a week, and we have not seen him but once."

"Now twice," Fandral chimed unhelpfully, quieting down when Sif shot him a _Look_.

"Loki was away for four days, defending us at the borders. He lost... It is not my place to say. But he was on the path to redeem himself in his own eyes, and was prepared to live out his many years on that border, waiting for a Jotun strike that never would have come. But Odin has now broken their treaty, and they will strike in retaliation, and Loki is lost once again." Sif tightened her hands on her long staff, striding with hard-stretched legs towards him.

"It was the girl, wasn't it?" Fandral asked. "The Jotun in the dungeon, and the three monsters."

She whipped around, the bladed edge of her staff at his throat, and asked, very coolly, "Wherever did you hear such things?"

"Some of the soldiers from Odin's search party, they spoke of it. 'Twas easy enough to glean that." He looked cowed, barely holding her gaze.

"You swore an oath, Fandral, years ago, to keep your gossiping tongue still on the matter of Loki Odinson. Need I approach Thor and tell him you have gone back on your word?"

"No, milady."

Sif flipped the staff away from him, retracting it, and moved on.

Hidden in a corner all the while, Thor held a frantically struggling Loki. He looked as if he was drowning on dry land, gasping for breath amongst the waves, and Thor just clung tight to him, letting him wear himself out. "Loki, you have got to stop this."

"I can't! The Norns are testing me once more. This is my duty. This is my _right!" _he hissed, flying in Thor's face.

"Is it? Is it your right to throw yourself to certain death to appease the Sisters and take back your children? Oh, disregard that, brother-mine, for I have spoken foolishly. You will not see your children, for you shall be _dead_." Thor was barely restraining the boom in his voice, hands clutching Loki's shoulders so tight he dented the trickster's armor.

"My daughter is in Niflheim. I will see, at least, her." Loki stopped struggling, limp as a rag in Thor's hands. He sounded so very_ broken._

"Loki... _My_ Loki, you will have died a hero in battle. You will live in Valhalla."

"I am not a hero," he spat, though there was no venom in it. "I do my duty and no more."

Thor growled, frustration sweeping through him like a high tide. "And so you are a hero. Please. Be rational."

"No." Loki pressed against Thor, holding him tight and breathing in the smell of him, tears leaking hot and wet down his cheeks. "No. I cannot... Thor, I cannot think of anything but earning them back."

"You cannot earn them back." Loki began to sob in earnest then, struggling against Thor's hold. "You did not lose them through some failing of heart or of morals, little one. You lost them through the actions of another man, and it is he who must be redeemed unto The Norns. You, dearest brother... You need only allow those who love you to care for you now. Would you be of any use to your children in this state?"

"I would not be in this state, were they with me," he whispered.

"One cannot simply stop mourning, stop hurting, at will. Loki, let us take care of you. Let yourself mend. And then, when you are well, we will all go and collect your children."

"Do you promise?" Loki asked, eyes as wide and trusting as when he was small, and the world had not battered him like some poppet which could not feel the blows.

"I promise, my Loki."

Loki smiled wetly and hugged Thor tight, burying his face in the thunderer's throat. There was a weight, massive and crushing, now borne aloft by Thor's oath. He could not feel its pressure any longer. He felt freed.

"Now, go. Wait out this battle, and when Sif and I return, we will make plans," Thor said quietly, stroking his hair. "Keep yourself calm, brother-mine, and remember my promise."

Loki smiled and left. His walk was no easy loping stride, as was Thor's, and no swift, decisive strut, as was Sif's; nor did he scuttle, terrified, or wander, burning, through the halls of the palace. He walked, quiet and unassuming, tongue dull with truth as he recited Thor's promise, eyes fixed on the floor before his feet.

And so, he did not see where he was walking - relying on memories built up over years and years of living in these halls, in these walls - or who he was walking into.

"Where are you going, whore?"

Loki's shoulders telescoped in. "Thor bade me rest. I am doing what is best."

Odin's hand gripped his throat, crushingly tight, and Loki just hung there. "You are doing_ nothing!_ This entire mess is brooked by your foulness, by the scourge which you bring wherever you may tread. You and your bastards brought back an age-old war between allies, and if you have any hope of seeing those bastards again, you will stand at the front lines of this battle and you will stand alone." He released his grip on Loki, who slid down to his own feet and stood, barely wobbling. "Now,_ go!"_

Loki went, moving faster than seemed possible when the world was a grey, thick sludge. He mounted Svaðilfari and whispered, "Do not hold back."

The stallion charged as if his legs would never tire, worry knotting his wide back. _Sir is ailing. Sir should be resting in his barn, tended to by his handlers. _

"I do not have that right. I must earn that. Only good... horses get care."

_All horses deserve care. Sir is the best of horses, besides. Sir deserves apples and carrots and sweet oats and hay, and the nice brushes that scratch._

Loki couldn't help but smile. It was hard to understand his stallion at times, as he lacked the mouth for Allspeak, but what did come across was always so deeply _nice_.

Sometimes, Loki wondered what he'd done to deserve such a good horse.

_Sir is just as nice, just as good. It's nice when Sir rides me, because Sir always takes such good care of me._

Svaðilfari kept up the complimenting babble as they rode out, and Loki was almost tempted to make him shut up. All that stopped him was knowing that Svaðilfari didn't deserve the harsh tone that would have accompanied the order.

After two hours' riding, he saw the first wave of ice-blue beasts approaching, bearing all manner of arms. Loki swallowed, bile rising in his throat, and tightened his hand on the hilt of his sword. It never felt right, too long and unwieldy for him - he'd never been as interested in attacking at midrange, at dancing around his opponents. He wanted defeat, swift and sure, and that meant long range magic or daggers, up close and personal. In his free hand, he quickly gathered enough magic to start any spell. It flickered, weak, and he wiped his forehead dry with his sleeve. Everything was hot, scorching, sweltering. He hated it.

_Sir, they will be upon us shortly. _

"I know."

_Sir, they will kill you! They will see your broken leg and they will see no purpose in letting you live, so you won't._

"I know."

_I do not like this, Sir. I would like you to stay with me._

"I am sorry."

_Sir, if I may..? If you take a harmless form, they will not attack. You owe the blind god nothing. _

"I owe many others much more. Thor, Sif, Mumma." He owed them his life, time and time again. He owed them everything.

_The blind god said to draw them off, not lay down for slaughter. _

Loki blinked. The Jotun were advancing faster now, and he could see dust rising from the force of their steeds' feet. "Oh, you blessed, blessed beast," he murmured, kissing Svaðilfari's mane.

_Only for being yours, Sir._

Loki concentrated hard, the green light in his hand bleeding over his skin, and within seconds, he stood at Svaðilfari's side, sleek and fat, a gleamingly well-groomed white pelt replacing his wan skin.

Loki whinnied, grinning as best he could. "Svaðilfari? I think this may be enough to distract them."

The stallion huffed, dragging his hoof over the turf rhythmically. "Oh, Sir, indeed. You are_ beautiful."_

Loki's smile widened. Svaðilfari was so _clear_ now, so very eloquent. It was charming, almost.

"Wait your turn. Until I have done my duty, they have all my attention." Loki stretched, snow-white flanks shining in the sun.

"Should I ever attain a fraction of that focus, Sir, I am as blessed as you think me. Granted, if you can focus on an entire army, that fraction may be intense enough to fell me like a tree for a woodsman."

"Hush," Loki hissed. "You are distracting me!"

"I am delighted to do so, but I will be quiet now." Svaðilfari bowed deeply, muzzle brushing Loki's flank, and he - _she_ - shuddered.

The Jotuns passed the crest of the next hill and stopped. Standing on the next peak was one of their horses, a mare so white she could easily disappear in the snow, as at ease on Aesir land as she would be on ice, with another horse, pelt darker than the Void, knelt behind her.

"She is a sign."

Later, no soul could determine who had said it first, but they whispered it in reverent tones, red eyes wide with hope. It spread like a breath between them, and Farbauti looked to Laufey, smiling. "Follow the mare where she leads. She is sent of the Void, and she will deliver us our purpose!"

The Jotun army cheered, their regents' hands clasped triumphantly. Urging their own steeds onward, they followed Loki back along the Tree, silent and smiling. Loki led them further and further from Asgard's walls, never faltering, never stumbling. Stars swum before her eyes, but whenever she looked remotely precarious, Svaðilfari nudged her surreptitiously, helping her stay the course and stay upright.

Eight days' walking later, they reached Jotunheim, and Loki stretched, green magic rippling over him. She stood tall, shaking sleek white curls back over her shoulder, and smiled softly. Taking the guise of a female Jotun, towering over them all, Loki knelt down on one knee and spoke as quietly as the snow she could disappear, chameleon-like, into.

"There is no need to attack Asgard. They are innocent of the crime you accuse them - all but one. Their king, Odin. He is a beast in the guise of a man, and he walks with the morals and the motivations of a monster. He makes habit that which is irredeemable to Jotunheim - stealing and harming children."

Jotuns lived on the most perilous and barren branch of the Tree. They staved off adolescence until they were certain to survive, and from that point onward, their bodies had but three goals: surviving until the end of one's natural life, creating as many children as was possible, and defending any and all life they came across. Children were practically sacred; in times of warfare, they were kept safe in temples to the Void until the battle was over or their families were incapable of fighting.

It cut Laufey to the quick, knowing that someone thought it appropriate to attack children. His own child, his youngest, had disappeared from their temple in the last battle against the Aesir, and none of their family had ever truly recovered from that loss.

"If there is any man to attack, it is Odin Borson."

One soldier shouted, "Who are you?"

Loki did not know what to say, words - for once - escaping him until a quiet snow-soft whisper filtered through his mind. "I am the Void. I am of the Winter Casket."

The soldier scowled. This felt like a lie, cool and sharp as a well-honed blade, cutting deep enough to kill before the incision could even be felt. He watched the albino Giantess speak and noticed her tongue flash the dullest possible silver. _This is wrong. This is all wrong._

With the utmost of care, he notched an arrow and drew the bow tight, string singing with tension as he marked it against his cheek. With a steady breath, he let the arrow fly.

Loki hissed, wincing at the impact, and the illusion flickered. A slick, frigid trickle of fear slid down her spine and she immediately cloaked herself and Svaðilfari, fleeing. Eventually, they reached the edges of Asgard, Loki draped over Svaðilfari's back with one pale hand pressed to his ribs to stem the steady flow of blood leaking from between his fingers.

_Sir, I should like to ask you to take on the mare once more._

"Now is not... the time to f-flirt," Loki laughed, wincing at the sharp flare of pain in his ribs.

_I meant only that a mare's heart will pump blood out more slowly, Sir; too, with the extra muscle and fat covering a mare's thorax, the injury may not pierce so deeply._

Loki tightened his hand, feeling the ladder of his ribs quite clearly. Perhaps Svaðilfari was right. With a frown, he stretched and twisted into the same white mare he'd taken on before; the pain lessened, and though she could still feel the hot, sticky flow of blood staining her pelt, Loki felt stronger.

"I am not so mindless as to request that you waste your last moments gratifying me," Svaðilfari huffed fondly, draping his muzzle over Loki's forehead fondly. "And as appealing as you are in this form, I care more that you live to revert to your true visage, Sir."

Loki nuzzled the softness of his throat, smiling. "I thank you for your concern, but I have not - "

"Earned it? Sir, you saved a Realm populated by millions, with no casualties. You have earned more adoration than I can express."

Loki plodded away, shaking her head. "You are quite eloquent, Svaðilfari. I'm sure you can manage it."

The stallion whinnied a laugh, kneeling under a tree and grazing thoughtfully. "I learned from you, didn't I?" He smiled, settling against the rough bark of the roots. "Rest now, Sir. You need it more than I."

Loki frowned, sinking to the forest floor and letting her eyes fall shut. Sleep didn't come easily, as accustomed as Loki had become to being sandwiched between two warm bodies, but exhaustion and the lack of adrenaline in his wrecked body soon gave way to slumber. When he woke hours later, grass and blood-stained, Svaðilfari stood guard over the clearing valiantly, muscles taut beneath dark pelt, and Loki smiled.

"Sir! You're awake!" Svaðilfari knelt and nuzzled at her ribs, feeling the clotted roughness of the gash and sighing with relief.

"I am much rested, thank you." Loki stood, legs trembling weakly before she righted herself properly, determined. "You may be obliged to take your own sojourn into sleep shortly; you have worked long and hard to care for me."

"It was an honour." Svaðilfari shambled off to sleep, and Loki smiled at the soft, snuffly snores painting the air. Svaðilfari had always been her confidante, her friend, and now that their communicative efforts were so effortless and their words so clear, she could hardly bear the thought of changing back. With a sudden lurch, she realised that, quite foolishly, she was wandering down the same path that had shattered her so totally not even a month prior.

It was imprudent to love again, especially someone with whom Loki could not rule. Svaðilfari was a horse; he could not sit at Loki's side on the throne, and Odin would, no doubt, steal and torture any child their union bore.

Granted, it was equally idiotic to love anyone, by that logic. Loki was not meant for this, and even if she was, the Allfather was determined to keep any true happiness from coming to pass.

Frigga's golden projection shimmered into view before her muzzle, one smooth hand stroking the slope of it. "My beautiful little one. Odin does not know where you hide. For now, you are safe. Thor is on his way to you with some of my best tinctures; you will be healed."

"You knew I was attacked?"

Frigga almost laughed. "Sweet son - or is it daughter, in that form? - I can always feel your suffering. You are my most precious child, my baby. I can never allow you to come to harm unnoticed."

Loki whinnied happily, stomping at the ground. "Mumma, you oughtn't... You'll get into trouble."

"I have survived more trouble than this may broker in my years," she chuckled. "I must go now, but know that Thor and I will send what help we can."

"Thank you, Mumma."

Frigga nodded, kissing Loki's brow before dissolving into what appeared to be golden motes of dust, floating away.

"Wait!"

In an instant, like fingers snapping, Frigga was visible once more. "What is it, my child?"

"I am experiencing... In this situation, 'tis foolish for me to form any attachment, yes?" Loki's cheeks burned; if not for her pelt, she was certain Frigga would have seen.

"Svaðilfari is a fine stallion, little one, and you have been friends since you were but yea high." Frigga gestured at her knee, smiling fondly. She missed the little children she had raised; jealousy licked at Loki as she realised she would never have the chance to feel that - she would never have the chance to raise her own children.

"He is my friend. Loyal and brave and kind and, admittedly, charming, but Mumma. I cannot afford to be compromised in this way. How do I stop it?"

Frigga laughed in earnest now, long and bright and loud. "My sweet, silly girl - you don't. Love is one inevitable force which only brings happiness."

"And then despair, when it rots and goes to seed once more." Loki fixed her stare on the ground, flat teeth grinding.

"Only the distractions and obstacles bring despair. Love uninterrupted is a joyous thing. Let yourself have it, little one. Be safe." Another soft kiss, a hand raking through Loki's mane, and she snuffled with pleasure long after Frigga's apparition had departed.

With her mother's blessing, Loki stopped fighting. She lived simply, as horses do; when hungry, she ate, and when tired, she slept. When her legs itched to run, she ran; when her wound ached, she let Thor apply their mother's salve. As the time passed, she gained strength under the tender care of her oldest friends, relaxing her defenses against those who might seek her out to cause her harm; no one would look for a white mare when searching for Loki Odinson, and so she was safe.

She relaxed her defenses against Svaðilfari, as well, allowing his comforting gestures and contact, allowing herself to be charmed by exactly the words she needed as they danced off his tongue - allowed herself to be seduced.

One morning, Loki awoke with a subtle, ineffable _newness_ inside her gut. She thought nothing of it, but within a few days' time, she understood quite clearly how Angrboða had known when something grew inside her.

Something, now, grew within Loki - her foal.

_This time_, she promised, curling into Svaðilfari to return to sleep, _this time I will keep my child safe, truly_.

_This time, I will know only the pain of witnessing a child growing too fast. I will be a parent. _

With a sleepy whinny, she promised herself, _This child will truly be mine._

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**Oh, boy. Loki, Loki, Loki... **

**This is nearly four thousand words of story, and we've only just reached the conception of Sleipnir.  
(No, I am not writing the horsey fun times. My limit is there. This far and no further.)**

**Review if you have the time.**


	20. Chapter 20: Families (2b)

**I'm having a pretty crap time of it as of now. I'm missing school and snow and dance because of what may be a nervous system disorder, which sucks like a tornado. So I'm gonna be writing a lot more now, just because writing makes me forget for a little while. Please keep voting; I do want to know who you'd like Loki to end up with.**

**I hope you all enjoy yourselves with this installment.**

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_Ten months later..._

Loki huffed, rolling out the sweat caked on her pelt and bumping her nose against the strange grey body before her. "Little one? Little one, please. Rise for Mumma."

She hadn't particularly enjoyed carrying her foal, what with the constant kicking, but she had never suspected that all those kicks were indicative of all those legs. Loki was fairly certain that most foals weren't born with nearly so many, but when she looked at the quiet, still form of her eight-legged colt, she felt nothing but love for him.

And he wasn't moving.

She nudged a little harder, heart thumping and scar aching. The Jotun archer's shot had only just healed, scar tissue latticing through Loki's chest like roots through soul, but it felt raw and fresh when she saw the solemn stillness in her son's prone form. "Little one, please, just stand. You have so many legs; use them!"

Svaðilfari knelt beside her. "Let him stand on his own, beloved. He will find his feet if he is there to feel them."

"That is not good enough," she spat, nuzzling her son's tangled mane tenderly. "My precious colt, my little one, please. We have slipped past the hands of death too many times to not pass that slipperiness on to you." With a long silver tongue, Loki lapped at her baby, doing her best to keep him warm and clean and dry. " Please, my sweet boy, please rise."

There was a soft tremble, the crackling of logs on a fire, in the colt's flank, and Loki's heart leapt into her throat, throbbing with hope. Slowly, as if his knobbly colt knees weren't quite certain they could bear his weight, he stood, tail flicking.

"Oh," Loki gasped, the sound punched out of her. "Oh, my slippery little blessing, Mumma is so glad to see you. My Sleipnir." Slippery, it meant; Loki hoped it served her little boy well through his lifetime - that he could slip away from the fate that had awaited all her other sons, that he could slip away from trouble and complications and death with a slick ease.

Sleipnir snuffled happily, burying his face in Loki's shoulder joint, hooves sinking into the loamy soil that had so often caked Loki's toes when she was a little boy. "M... Muh... Mumma."

"That's right, my precious baby. I am your Mumma." Loki stood, shaking out the stiffness in her flanks, and Sleipnir followed suit, eight legs rasping against each other. "Come. Let's all of us stretch our legs. We've been still for far too long."

"Mumma!" Sleipnir whinnied, leaping and bounding over roots and rocks happily, as if gravity held no sway over him. "Mumma, watch me!"

Loki cantered after him, grinning. "I am, little one. I will always watch you." Svaðilfari chased after them, haunches flexing, and Loki watched her night-black and dusk-grey boys playing together. This was a family, as it ought to always be. No one, no force, from the Norns to the Void, could ever steal from her her family.

They galloped to a nearby brook, Sleipnir practically dancing over the staggered rocks below the silky flow of water with feet as sure as his Mother's, as his Uncle's goats. He loved this - running and jumping and swimming. His legs were already strong enough to bear him forth and stable enough to keep him upright; he didn't know worry or fear or sadness. His first months passed in happiness.

And if, perhaps, the shining golden apparitions who Mumma bid him call Uncle Thor and Grandmother looked nothing like horses, as, inside, they must have been, Sleipnir didn't much care. Confusion and fretting served him no purpose, and so he didn't feel them. He knew nothing but that warm, sweet glen and the tall trees and the babbling current of the river and its wet grey rocks.

Over the next twelve weeks, as Mumma taught him to speak and Papa taught him to run, Sleipnir grew taller and stronger and faster and cleverer. He was, in every possible way, his parents' son, a perfect amalgamation of their best traits. Even Thor, who managed to smother his envy at the happiness of Loki and her latest lover, her latest child, saw in that colt the potential to rule and rule well.

He was an heir, and yet Loki did not teach him the ways of the court or the rules of Aesir society. Sometimes, Thor wondered if Loki would ever return to him - _no, to our home_, he corrected himself. _If Loki ever does return, it will be to Sif. I am Loki's brother, not consort or lover or husband. _A strange, sweet warmth filled Thor at that word - husband. It was a bond nigh unbreakable by any means, by any force, and the shining heady thought of kissing Loki flew through Thor's mind constantly, tantalizing and sweet._  
_

It was never just of kissing Loki's lips. Thor remembered the lines and planes of his brother's body well, and they near-always peppered his dreams, midnight mind painting those memories with softer strokes and shading them with kisses. Loki was Thor's most precious person, the one he loved best and would always regard through rosy lenses.

Svaðilfari trusted him, but barely. The horse had never trusted Loki's admirers, especially not after the Frost Giantess had gutted him so thoroughly, but Thor had always taken care of his little brother. That was enough to protect the thunderer from any sort of deliberate assault, but the stallion still snubbed him at every turn, reluctant to even leave Loki alone in Thor's presence.

Still, when Sleipnir peeped, "Papa, come running with me! I want to see if I can still outpace you," Svaðilfari was molten, incapable of resisting the infectious glee of his colt. The fear surrounding his near-stillbirth was enough to wind his parents around Sleipnir's figurative little finger, and the stallion set off at a hard gallop, leaving Loki knelt at Thor's side.

"Brother," the mare said with quiet joy, "I have missed you."

Thor only just understood Loki, but the sentiment was reciprocated tenfold and Thor threw his arms around the mare's neck. "Brother - Sister-mine, I will visit as often as I can. It is difficult to hide away long enough to project here and see you, speak with you, but this is the highlight of my days."

Loki nuzzled Thor's temple, feeling the warmth of him even through her thick hide. Carefully, she morphed into a slender female form, dark-haired and fair-skinned. She looked almost exactly as her male form did, save for a few key differences: as a female, she was softer, coated in sleek curves, and very, very naked. "This makes it easier to speak with me, doesn't it? To understand. Not many are adept at conversing with animals, and I see you so rarely that it is worth the transition."

Thor swallowed. _Perhaps it is easier to understand the words you say_, he thought, _but it is all the harder to speak cogently when you sit bared before me. _No matter the form his little brother took, Loki was always perfect to Thor, near irresistible. "Is there no pain?" he asked, sliding his cloak around her shoulders and catching his hand in the tangled silk of her long, wild curls. "In your scar."

"Mumma promises that if I keep applying the salve, the damage will be totally reversed in a few more months. It only troubles me when I transition between glamours or when the weather changes. In this form, the injury penetrates deeper. Sometimes, my heart itself suffers for it." Loki laughed, rough with mirth, and Thor ached to taste that chuckle on her soft, pink mouth. "Prosaic, is it not?"

Thor smiled, rubbing Loki's shoulder. "I think it is an honor that you should choose to feel pain in order to speak freely with me, but, sister, it is an honor I hesitate to accept. Do not hurt for my sake."

"It is only for a short while, and if my heart does not hurt, what else is there for it to do?" Loki quipped, smiling. "At all times, dearest brother, I am happier than ever have I been."

Thor's stomach dropped. "But, eventually, you will return..?"

Loki bit her lip, fingers tapping at the join of tooth and flesh. She could not properly raise her son if she took on her old Aesir form; in truth, she felt more at home in the delicate skin of a woman than did she as a man. At least, in this guise, Odin's criticisms of her girlish pursuits had no foundation upon which to be insulting.

But she had promised Sif - her male form had promised Sif - to return and to wed. Reneging on that promise, the prospect of disappointing her, made Loki's heart twist. She still loved Sif, even in this form, but with Svaðilfari, she had a son and a duty to her family.

"I do not know," she finally whispered. "Oh, brother, I do not know. I am pulled in two directions by my duties and my loves and I wish... Why can nothing be so simple?"

Thor kissed her hair. "Little sister, I know no better than you. I can only think to say that the stables at Asgard are well-equipped to house my nephew and his father."

Loki huffed a sigh, burying her face in the thunderer's chest and hugging him tight, fingers catching in the chinks in his armor. "I will think on it, brother-mine."

"I will see you as soon as I can, sister." Thor shimmered, dissolving, and Loki felt the faint tingling pressure of his lips on her hair, his hand at her nape.

She rippled back through the transformation, unwilling to show a wince when she heard a shrieking sound, echoing back from the riverbank. "Sleipnir? Sleipnir!" Loki took off at a gallop, bashing through the trees to find her boys, ignoring the stinging thrash of the branches against her hide. Once, branches in her face had made her cry; once, their impact on her flank and rear would have made her cry at the pain of being switched. Now, all that was pushed aside. All that mattered was her family.

She made it to the river and saw, with lurching stomach, that her Svaðilfari was struggling against Odin's soldiers' ropes and failing. He was the strongest horse in all the Realms - it had been tested and retested and contested, and he had always been superior - and it took twenty men to bring him to his knees, but he hit the ground hard, huffing angrily.

Sleipnir was running upstream, picking his way over the trickiest path and shouting, "Mumma! Mumma, help!" Another twenty men chased behind him, bloodied and bruised from their earlier attempts, and Loki felt a surge of pride. _Bless the Norns that he kicked so hard within me,_ she thought, running to him.

"I'm here, my baby, Mumma has you. Run!" She nosed at his haunches, pushing him away from Odin and his army, and stood fiercely between them, fire flickering around her hooves. "Now! Who of you dares attack my child?"

The soldiers - battle-hardened and seasoned with warfare - flinched away from her.

"What convinced your feeble brains that this unfounded assault on my family was the right thing, the rational thing, the moral thing to do?"

Another flinch; half of them cowered on the ground before her, the other kneeling. No one dared speak, lest she strike out with flaming hoof and render them dead.

Odin stepped forward, shield and staff raised. Like this, defensive and ferocious, Odin had never seen the Jotun foundling look more like his adoptive mother. "You have brought forth another worthless bastard. 'Tis my duty as king to ensure that the line of succession remains untainted by monster spawn."

Sleipnir whimpered, ducking into Loki's flank. _I'm not a monster. I can't be a monster. _

"The only monster here, Father, is you, and you are monster through deed, not through blood!" Loki roared. Fire flared out over the surface of the river, scorching soldiers and steaming the rapids, but Odin barely flinched at it.

"Mumma? Mumma, I am not a monster, am I?" Sleipnir whimpered, nuzzling Loki's jaw. "Mumma?"

"No, my sweet boy. You are nothing but good," she whispered, turning to reassure her baby. He was so very young, and already, Odin was planting self-loathing seeds deep in his mind. Loki couldn't let him do that. "Odin! What do you want from me?"

Odin shifted his weight nervously. "Cease your flames and I will speak." Loki obliged him, though her hooves still smoked. "I have come to make a bargain with you, whore."

"Do not speak to her in so disrespectful a manner!" Svaðilfari roared, bucking against his bonds.

"If you talk about my Mumma that way, I'll run over your stupid face! I have eight hooves, monster! I can do it, and it will hurt!" Sleipnir scraped his hooves against the rocks, baring his teeth.

"Shush, sweet boy. Do not let his cruelty drag you to his level. You are a good, kind colt. Do not listen to his slander." Loki turned back to Odin and stared him down, cool and unflappable. "What is your offer? Mind your tongue, Borson, lest I rend it from your throat. Just because I will not allow my boys to sully themselves in my name does not mean I am above retaliation."

"You may return to Asgard, and your equine... _family_ may reside in our stables, unharmed and well cared for; for my permissive kindness, I will take the colt as my steed."

Flames leapt around Loki's hooves. "How dare you? How dare you threaten to press my son into slavery?"

"Either you submit the bastard to slavery or you submit him to death!" Odin roared, swinging his staff at Loki's throat.

Svaðilfari reared, bucking, trying all the harder to reach Loki. "Do not be afraid, son! We will protect you!"

Loki turned back to Sleipnir, nuzzling his mane. "My little one... This is a terrible choice to make. Whatever the outcome, I am so sorry."

"Mumma," Sleipnir whispered, pressing in closer, hiding. "I am afraid of the monster-man, to be sure, but I would rather live near you and Papa than never see you again."

"I will accept, Borson, on one condition." Loki shifted, blocking Sleipnir totally from view. "You will not ride my Sleipnir until he is grown, and that will not affect your treatment of him."

"Understood." Odin held out a hand, a bit and lead dangling from his palm, and Loki felt sick at the thought of her son in such bondage. "Bring him to me."

Sleipnir trembled, walking towards his grandfather with an air of calm resignation.

"No! Your... _mother_ will bring you to me, or there is no deal."

Loki stepped up to Sleipnir's side, walking him to Odin and forcing down the hate that burned in her gut. "Be brave, my little one. I will see you every day, Sleipnir. Not much will change."

"I will, Mumma. I love you."

Loki wanted to cry. "I love you, too, Sleipnir."

Odin tightened a fist in Sleipnir's thick mane and yanked, ignoring the colt's pained cries as he stuffed the metal bar of the bit into his mouth, latching on the neck harness. He tightened the leather straps as Sleipnir whinnied and reared, immediately regretting his decision. _No. I must be brave. The monster cannot hurt me unless I allow him to. _

"You are hurting him! Stop this, this is madness! He is a child!" Loki charged, flames trailing behind her hooves, but Odin threw up his free hand and sent Loki crashing into the rocks with a dull grey blast.

_"Silence, whore!"_ Sleipnir reared; Svaðilfari reared. Odin turned, crushing Svaðilfari down with another burst of grey, and snarled in Sleipnir's face, breath sodden with wine: "No matter how fiercely you fight, no matter how slippery you are, you will not escape me. If the thought but once crosses your mind, I will kill your mother in an instant."

Sleipnir went still, head hanging down, and Odin turned to Loki.

"Return to your normal form, clothe yourself, and return with me."

Loki shifted back, allowing Odin's soldiers to shove him into a rough tunic and leggings, cuffing his wrists and ankles so he could not run. "You are a monster, old man. You are a monster, and for this, you will suffer." The soldiers threw him over Svaðilfari's back, bridling the black stallion to Odin's current horse and walking him to Asgard.

Sleipnir was shuffled off into a stall nine times the size of the rest of them and tied to a hook on the back wall to ensure that he would not escape. Svaðilfari, down on the other end of the stables, did his best to keep his colt at ease, but Sleipnir was inconsolable.

Loki was dragged into the main hall, thrown to the base of Odin's throne as the one-eyed god strode forth, staff crackling. "You, whore, have sullied the royal line for the last time. Should you breed one time more with some beast, you do so on pain of death. You are in line for the throne and your sluttish ways are weakening this family's line."

Loki struggled to his feet, but Odin pushed him down once more. "And this! Spending a year in the form of a woman - do you comprehend the shame you bring down on your family?"

"Sleipnir is my family. Svaðilfari is my family. Fenrir and Jormungandr and Hela are my family! And you threw them away, slaughtered their mother, locked them up!"

Odin swung one massive hand, backhanding Loki across the face. The silver-tongued teenager spat, a tooth clattering against the floor amidst a puddle of bloody saliva. "Monsters and bastards are no form of life, slut. You will not take the form of a female again, and you will not sire another child until I have found a woman suitable for you. Is that understood?"

Loki gasped, scar aching. Being that mare for a year had made him nothing but happy. He suited femininity. His interests, his temperament, his features, his build - all fit the bill for Aesir women. Were he to take and keep that shape, he would know normalcy for once, and that sounded nice. Perhaps, if he had been born female, Loki could have kept his children, could have raised them and loved them and seen them off into adulthood.

But he was not female, in heart or in body, and he had a duty to his Realm and to his warrior-wife. "Understood, Allfather."

The soldiers unlocked Loki's shackles and Odin bade him depart. Loki stood, stumbling on numbed, bruised legs, and ran for the stables. He found Sleipnir's stall win seconds, opening the gate and kneeling by his son's muzzle. "Little one, it's me, your Mumma."

_You do not look like yourself._ Still, the strange not-horse creature smelled like Mumma and spoke like Mumma. Svaðilfari whinnied for the man, called him _Loki_ and _beloved_ like he had Mumma. Sleipnir cautiously leaned into Loki's palm, melting into the smooth skin of it and the gentle pressure of Loki's gentle petting. _Mumma, what does the monster-man want from us?_

"That man is... he is not very nice. That man hates me, for reasons I have yet to discover, and he knows that hurting my family will hurt me. He has done this before, but I was arrogant enough to believe I could hide us forever." Loki pressed his forehead into the hard warmth of Sleipnir's flank, hugging him tight. "Oh, my precious little one, I am sorry for failing you."

_Mumma! Mumma, you have not failed me. _Sleipnir whimpered, nuzzling into the nook of Loki's jaw._ Mumma, you told me to be brave, but you must be brave, too. The monster-man will not win, because he is bad. Bad is always punished for its deeds, while good triumphs._

Loki sniffled, running his palm down Sleipnir's back as much to soothe himself as his son. "I will, Sleipnir, and good will triumph. I will rescue you and Papa both. I will break us out, and we will run away."

It had worked for a time with Angrboða; _this time_, Loki swore, _I will succeed. I will raise my son, and he will not live as Odin's slave._

Loki pulled away, wiping his cheeks dry, and kissed Sleipnir's forehead. "I love you, baby boy."

_I love you, too, Mumma. I will be brave and patient and good. _Sleipnir felt terrible for lying, but Odin's foul promise rang through his head. If the time ever came, Sleipnir would stay; he'd try to convince his Mumma and Papa to stay, as well, but he would not allow the monster-man to hurt his mother.

"You needn't try to be, sweet child. You already are." Loki stood, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Sleep now, little one. 'Tis past your bedtime."

Sleipnir sighed, closing his eyes. _Goodnight, Mumma._

"Goodnight, my baby." Loki slipped over to Svaðilfari and kissed his muzzle, stroking his mane tenderly. "Did you hear?"

_Yes, Sir. I trust in you, Sir; you are wise and strong and powerful and good. You will save us._

"Sleep, then, beloved. I will see you when you wake."

Loki left the stables, forcing himself not to show any sign of pain. It hurt worse this time. He had been so close to having a proper family, to being truly happy, and once more, Odin had taken it.

_He could not have taken it if I had been better. More vigilant, more careful._

Loki made it back to his chambers and into the bath before breaking down completely, sinking beneath the cool, clean waters as if that could disguise his weakness. He was disgusted with himself. He had no right to weep like this; at least this time, Odin had not thrown his child into the Void or to Hel or to the caustic seas of Midgard. At least this time, there was a chance.

That knowledge did not stem his tears, and he stayed under that water for hours until warm hands gripped him under the shoulders and lifted him bodily out, a thick woolen sheet scrubbed over his water-wrinkled hide vigorously.

"Loki, my Loki," that voice whispered, loving and soft and kind. "How could this happen? How could anyone allow you to suffer this way?"

"Brother?" Loki didn't open his eyes; red and raw from crying, sore and swollen with exhaustion, it would hurt too badly to consider. Loki sighed, slumping over narrow shoulders and allowing himself to be carried to bed and tucked into sleep clothes and blankets. "Sif?"

"We're here, dearest. Sleep, now."

"We will be here should you want for anything, brother-mine."

Loki listened blearily as their armor clattered and was removed, as they slipped in beside him and hugged him close. He shuddered, burying his face in his hands. "I failed - you, my son, Svaðilfari. I have failed everyone I love and I cannot... I cannot let him hurt my family."

"He won't. We will help to keep you safe - "

"I do not care for my safety. I care only for my children."

"We care for your safety, Loki. We will help you ensure your family's safety, but first and foremost is your wellbeing. Do you understand?"

Loki didn't know who was talking, didn't particularly care. This kind of love, deserved or not, felt wonderful, as did their hands tugging at his unkempt curls. Slowly, fighting it every step of the way, Loki drifted off, tears pooling in his hands and trickling down his wrists.

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**This one made me cry a little. From Odin's appearance onwards, I was basically soaking my keyboard. I'm surprised it hasn't shorted out with all the times I've cried on it. **

**Review and vote if you'd like to.**


	21. Chapter 21: Memories

**I'm so very, very pleased with the turnout in voting. As is, four people have voted for Thorki, two people have voted for Sorki, and none have voted for Sifki. If these numbers displease you, feel free to vote! I really do want to make my readers happy, as many of you as there may be. **

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_Two months later..._

Armed with Kybarrha's spell book and Frigga's covert assistance, Loki was certain that he could liberate his son. In the span of two months, with admittedly wonderful care, Sleipnir had grown four hands higher and packed on some incredible muscle. Under any other circumstances, Loki would have been beyond proud, thanking profusely those responsible for taking his near-stillborn son and making him so _vital_.

Instead, Loki found himself begging with the universe, each and every night, for his boy to remain slight and weak and small; for each night, Loki's mind plagued him with the wild, animal fear in Sleipnir's eyes as Odin pulled so roughly on that bit, the chafing on his mouth and throat and jaw, and he suffered weeks of sleeplessness for it. Those midnight vigils, insomnia burning the whites of his green eyes, Loki buried himself in spell books, looking for some ancient rite in some ancient tome that would deliver his boys from Odin's clutches, and three days prior, he'd found it in Frigga's library.

"Mumma, may I take this book tonight?" Loki had asked, doing his best not to betray his excitement as he waggled the blue leather-bound tome, thumb unconsciously stroking the gold embossing on the cover. Kybarrha had written a new book while he'd been in the woods, and her works had always been useful to him.

Frigga had risen from her chair, soft blue gown fluttering behind her as she glided to her son. Carefully, she weighed the book in hand before handing it back, kissing his cheek. "I remember, little one, when you stood but this high," she gestured at her thigh, midway between knee and hip. "You brought to me one of the oldest spell books in my possession, the weight of it too much for your little arms - and you dragged it along the floor, bumping over stone and wearing away the cover - and asked in that sweet, piping lisp of yours, 'Mumma, will you read to me?'"

Loki looked horrified at this tale, at his conduct. He remembered that book well; containing millions of spells, it was more valuable than the souls of every king to live and die before the Ragnarok combined. "How did you resist demolishing me for such casual destruction? That tome - "

"Was not as precious to me as the smile on your little face when I sat you in my lap and read it to you." Frigga cupped his cheek, fingers playing at a loose curl. "You grew so quickly, Loki, but I was blessed enough to witness it. I want only for you to be able to tell Sleipnir a story like this one day. You will raise a child, and you will raise him well."

Loki blinked, gobsmacked, before lifting Frigga up in a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, _Mumma!_ Thank you, _thank you_, thank you!" Gently, Loki set her down, a little shocked at his own conduct; so joyously he had not reacted in years, that instinctive, tactile delight tamped into the emptiest corners of him by all the years of wear he had not earned. Restraining himself, he stooped to kiss her cheek in return before asking quietly, "May I sit and read here?"

The room was warm, filled with honey-gold sunlight and shimmering silk tapestries and the thick smell of worn paper and leather, and Loki had passed many a happy hour in Frigga's chambers when the world outside its walls became too much - too cruel, too loud, too lonely - for him to handle. Now, mourning and fighting at once, that same packed-down part of him that had tackled Frigga into a hug craved the quiet, affectionate simplicity of reading an old book with the silk-clad curve of his mother's knee against his neck as he leaned into her warmth.

Loki stared at his toes, fidgeting. Perhaps he had overstepped, overstayed; perhaps she did not want him there any longer.

Frigga smiled, looping her arm through his, and guided him to a sofa, pushing him into a seat and setting the book, open, in his hands. "Read, my son. You are always welcome here."

And there, in the shining golden hideaway of his mother's study, Loki had found the answer to his problem.

There was an old elven spell, one used in times of distress. Until one event came to pass, determined by the caster, the entire population of a Realm would be frozen, save those the caster deemed exempt.

A plan wove itself like a basket in Loki's mind - freeze the Realm, pardon my boys, flee through the Bifrost and find somewhere safe and hidden - and, with a sly smile, he bundled his foal and his stud into that basket, carrying them to safety under his arm in his mind's eye.

And so, carefully, Loki cloistered his books away and awaited the perfect moment. It had taken three days, but when Frigga had approached him that clear chilled morning, he'd known.

"He is Sleeping," she said calmly. "I do not know when he shall wake, but you have at least a day. Be careful." With a flash, she was gone, disappeared back to her post at Odin's side. Loki understood; she needed to maintain her apparent innocence. There was no safety in Asgard outside the appearance of total obedience, total loyalty.

"Thank you," he whispered, quickly clothing himself and chanting the verse.

For a moment, he felt nothing. The world continued on; the sun rose in its usual path and warmed the lilac dawn to a soft marigold, the wind carried a slight nip _through_ the Realm, and the faintest sounds of life still hushed through the palace's halls.

Then, suddenly, all was quiet - the sun glared off the peak of one mountain without shifting, the wind ceased its whistle, and the palace's occupants were still and silent.

Swiftly, Loki made his way through the petrified masses and found his way to the stables. "Sleipnir?"

A whinny.

_Mumma, what's going on? I'm frightened. Everyone has stopped. _

"They'll start again once I've freed you and Papa." Loki dashed to Sleipnir's stall, tearing the door off its hinges when the lock wouldn't give fast enough. "We'll be happy, little one. Odin won't mistreat you any longer."

Sleipnir shifted his weight anxiously. _Mumma... Mumma, I don't want to go._

Loki froze, as still as the rest of Asgard, eyes wide and wet as he looked up at his son. "Little one, why? Wh-why would you want to stay?"

_We are safe here. The one-eyed man does not beat me any more than any other horse, and I am fed and cared for. Mumma, why would we ever want to leave this place?_

Loki felt, with sickening realism, as if he was plummeting through the earth below him, crashing into the chill and the emptiness of the Void between the Realms. "You needn't - "

Sleipnir stomped, once, tantrumatic. Mumma didn't understand; if Sleipnir left, far worse fates would befall his parents than being imprisoned in this gilded city. _I don't want to go, Mumma, and you can't make me!_

Loki closed his eyes, stifling the wellspring of discordant emotional noise bubbling up within him. "I... I will not make you do anything against your will, my baby. I do not understand your choice, but I want only your happiness and health."

_So I will stay here._ Sleipnir nosed at Loki's wet cheek, smiling softly. _Fret not, Mumma. We will see each other everyday._

Svaðilfari snorted, and Loki slipped over to his stall. "What is it?"

_I cannot stay here. I cannot watch as we fall apart, fall away from each other. If your offer stands, I would be freed by your hand rather than rot here and watch Sleipnir suffer the same. _

Loki threw his arms around the black stallion's neck, hugging him tight. "You have always been my friend, Svaðilfari. I will free you. No creature in all the Realms deserves forced bondage under my father." With a flick of the wrist, Svaðilfari was unbound and free, legs stretching and flank twitching at the sudden increase in mobility. "Say goodbye to our son."

_He is not our son. _Svaðilfari sounded desperate at that, hollow and mournful, but Loki wanted to slap him_. He was once our boy, Sir, as you were once my beloved, but in these walls you have both forgotten yourselves. I cannot sully my memories of my family by allowing impostors in their skin to replace them._

Strangely enough, that was a sentiment Loki understood. It was impossible to retain one's sanity and one's self under Odin's thumb, and Loki had borne the mantle of madness before. Its weight sat poorly on his shoulders; he was not fond of taking it on once more, and so he let himself forget. "Be safe. I hope... I hope you find all you seek."

_If you can remember yourself, I will seek only you. _With a deep bow, Svaðilfari departed, flying over petrified soil faster than sound, and Loki turned back towards his son.

"Little one? You are certain of this choice?" Loki raked his fingers through Sleipnir's mane, watching fondly as he whinnied in delight.

_As sure as any soul has been._

"Then I will leave you be on this subject. I love you, little one." Loki stood, the knees of his leggings soaked and stained with rich, wet, black soil. "Never forget that."

_I love you, too, Mumma. More than you can understand. _

Loki nearly offered to take on the form of a horse, just for the sake of communicative ease, but the words died on his tongue. It was clear that Sleipnir meant nothing so simple as that. With heavy, dragging feet, Loki returned to his room and undid the spell, lip caught between his teeth. A knock came at the door, and with the flick of his hand, Loki opened it.

With all the grace of an ox, Thor flung himself onto Loki's bed, rubbing he knotted, bony surface of his back. "Brother, you are disheartened."

Loki rested his head against Thor's shoulder. "Do you think... Am I different to how, in past, I have been? Have I forgotten myself?"

The thunderer combed his fingers through Loki's curls, humming quietly and bundling his little brother in close. "Oh, my Loki... I have always seen you for exactly who you are inside, and to me, you look exactly the same as you always have."

Loki wasn't much lightened by Thor's words, but he did not shatter as once he would have. Rather, he held himself in tight, composed poses, careful not to drop anything, to let the slightest hint of tumult show. For hours, he sat pressed into Thor's broad, warm chest, one hand tugging loosely at his hair; not once did he realize the sacrifice his little son had made.

If even one other soul had known - perhaps, even, the blond whose arms held Loki together - they would have remarked on how much like his Mumma the colt was.

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**I hope you enjoyed that somewhat, because I got a little wiffley at the end. **

**Please review, and remember to vote!**


	22. Chapter 22: Friends

**There's really an outpouring of votes for Thorki - four more votes in the last few days. There's also been one vote for Sifki. The totals are now:**

**Thorki=10**

**Sifki=1**

**Sorki=1**

**If these numbers don't please you, please vote! I really do want to make my two point one readers happy. **

**Warning: This chapter includes vaguely referenced wanking, pseudo-incest, references to non-penetrative sex acts, and heterosexual ****snogging.**

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_Two months later..._

Thor swung Mjolnir, its path straight and true, and its impact shattered the training dummy he'd aimed it at. He was never much hat at keeping his feelings hidden, and since Loki's return, he'd been practically stitched to the Lady Sif's side.

It made Thor furious, the sight of the two of them together, shining dark heads and smooth pale bodies pressed side by side, and he hated the incendiary rage that coursed through him. He wanted nothing more than for his little brother to have the happiness he so greatly deserved, that which had been robbed from him so consistently. Sif gave him that happiness. She visited Sleipnir with him and, while a little uncertain of her fiancé's colt - and more than a little bothered by the clear differences between a stallion and a woman - she was willing to accept him as family in a way that few others had. She had never failed Loki, had never betrayed or misguided or distrusted him.

So Thor, as always, ever valiant and loyal, did his very best to keep his hands at his sides instead of on the creamy sliver of his hips that peeked out when he reached upwards, or on Sif, pulling her off of Loki with a possessive, territorial roar.

Loki had enchanted their training room to move of its own free will, sending obstacles and enemies their way, and everyone was in fits over it. It was near impossible to best, so naturally, the Warriors Three, the Lady Sif, and Thor were falling over themselves to best it.

Fandral had suggested that Volstagg take the slower-moving dummies and smaller stationary obstacles while Hogun and Thor took out the bigger obstacles and faster foes, which left him, Sif, and Loki to take out the aerial attacks. Fandral had always been clever and fast, but for years he'd used his skills for petty gossip and, after that, tricking the simpler handmaidens and visiting dignitaries' daughters into his bed. It was a relief to see that, at long last, the blond had gained focus on something other than simple pleasures. He was a fine strategist and a great soldier.

Never had this been more clear as it was in that training room. His plan was working flawlessly - the six of them _cooperating_ flawlessly. It was practically artful, the way they moved as a unit, covering each others' backs - and there was no better example than Sif and Loki.

One mannequin swooped down over them, borrowed magic sparking and building to a cracklingly lethal ball. The dark-haired pair twisted, Loki ducking low and helping Sif jump high enough to attack it, and Loki threw one of his daggers up to her hilt-first. Deftly, as if they had practiced that maneuver thousands of times, Sif caught his dagger for the very first time and drove it through the dummy's burlap skin, splitting it down the middle. She threw it back to him, catching and crushing another canvas creature between her legs before landing square on the balls of her feet. Loki sliced easily through one with his blade as soon as he caught it, spearing another wave against the wall with the remainder of his daggers.

One final brute, more than double Loki's size, bore down on him, blazing with muted green energy. The second Thor caught sight of it, he launched himself through the air and blasted a hole through the center of it, smashing it flat beneath him when he landed. He stood, breathing a little heavier, and surveyed the damage they'd wrought on the dummies. It was glorious, the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the total destruction of the course, and Thor was struck quite suddenly with the oft-repressed urge to grab Loki and...

Well. Do what Sif was doing. The two of them were, once more, wrapped up in each other, Loki holding Sif up against a pillar and tracing over the tendons in her neck with his silver tongue as she dug her fingers into his shoulders and her heels into his ass. The warrior shifted her hips, twisting and rolling them over to push him against the stone by his narrow shoulders. Their faces were flushed with slowly ebbing battle frenzy and proximity, and Thor clenched his fists against that urge, pushing it back down.

Fandral laughed, a brief, bright burst, and Hogun shook his head at the slighter blond as he remarked, "If this is to be the aftermath of every skirmish they take part in, mayhaps we ought merely expose the sight of them to our enemies. They'd flee on sight."

Thor reached out, gripping the tip of Fandral's tongue between equally callused finger and thumb. "Hold your tongue. We have no right to judge their happiness - certainly, you do not. How many times have you come home from some excursion or other and buried yourself in the nearest willing body?"

Fandral's aquiline nose wrinkled in disgust at the taste of the thunderer's skin as he spat it out. Casually, he retreated a few steps before saying, "Aye, sir. Though, I must wonder at the merit in holding my own tongue when it seems apparent that you are so willing to hold it for me." With that, he dashed back, laughing brightly as Thor chased him around the training room. The rest of them chuckled at their friends' antics until, eventually, the two blonds tired themselves out and fell back to the mat, breathless.

"Truce, my clever friend?" Thor gasped, wiping lazily at his forehead before extending a hand to shake.

"Only if you wipe your hand free of sweat first. I have no inclination to wear your perspiration, Thor," Fandral wheezed, grinning back and clasping his hand. Thor grinned, glad they'd moved past it, and let go, hand falling against his chest with a thud.

Volstagg's stomach snarled and he groaned, eyes rolling. "Enough with this mawkishness. I am starved. My guts will devour themselves and I will die if I am not fed," he proclaimed, thumping one meaty fist on the floor.

Hogun sighed. "You have not changed since you were a child. Always throwing tantrums when your stomach is even slightly less than full." He stood, tipping the rest of his water over his head and shaking it out of his eyes. "Fandral, help me?"

The blond huffed, rolling lithely up on the balls of his feet and grabbing Volstagg under one arm as Hogun grabbed under the other, dragging him down the hall.

Thor sat up, stretching out the tightness in his thighs and back, and frowned at the floor as Loki and Sif grappled, laughing quietly. He wished he'd left with the rest of his friends, but leaving now would only make things more uncomfortable. So he stayed, eyes fixed on the marble floor, digging the point of his elbows into his thigh until the tension had leaked out into a dull, loose ache, pointedly ignoring his brother.

Sometimes, Thor pondered how easy it would be to pull them apart, how many ways there were to do it.

Sif had propositioned him first; it was with great ease that he could announce his intentions to follow through on their ages-old proposal and thereby set Loki free of any long-term relationship. Except that would upset him, and that alone was enough to make Thor's chest ache with guilt, never mind the fact that, engaged, he had no chance of ever being with the trickster.

Not that he ever did. Loki was his brother; sometimes, it sickened Thor to think that he was so deeply infatuated with his own kin, so he did his best to ignore that.

It was markedly more difficult to do so when Loki was so near, making such _noise_, kissing someone who could just as easily be him.

Eventually, Thor gave up, standing with a grunt and making his way towards the door. Listening carefully, he realized that they had yet to even acknowledge his presence; they were so wrapped up in each other that nothing, living or still, could ever interrupt.

"I love you." They whispered it, as if they were afraid someone would hear, and it carried the weight of countless repetitions. One could hear it, rolling off their tongues; the two of them had hashed out the fates of Loki's many lovers, and it was audible. Loki said it like it was terrifying and contraband, tiptoeing out of him; Sif said it like protection and salvation and hope.

Thor pushed out of the room, head swimming. It was too hot to think, to breathe. Sometimes, he hated Asgardian summers - the heat clung to everything, sticking against his skin and down his throat like the wine Father drank clinging to crystal goblets. He hated the sweat and the stink of it - it wasn't a hard-won, hard-earned sweat, all honesty and effort, but a lazy, torturous sweat dragged out of one's pores by the suffocating heat.

When they were younger, Loki had stayed indoors unless there was rain, hiding in baths or in books. Thor ventured outdoors only when necessary, spending most days curled into Loki's side to soak up the coolness of his soft pale skin.

That was no longer an option, and Thor only just managed to slog through the sticky heat to his room and fall into an ice-cold bath. Submerged up to his chin - it was a specialty tub, designed for a frame so outlandishly lofty as his, even on Asgard where everyone was tall and bulky - Thor closed his eyes, head falling back against the cool copper rim, and fell into the swirling tide of memories, one hand creeping down the gold-skinned topography of his abdomen.

The noises Loki had made, deep and rough and wanting, pressed against - and here, he lied to himself, replacing the memory of Sif's slender curves with his own hard lines, contrasting pale hands on tanned hips.

The thought of stallions, of the heft and size of horses, how that had to translate somehow and how Loki must have moved on that black steed - how he had, how Thor had seen him, thighs tense as he rode over hills and glens at a gallop, rising and falling at a fast, controlled clip.

Within minutes, Thor vacated the bath, emptying the water with a new, shameful heat burning his cheeks. Roughly, he toweled himself dry with a woolen bath sheet and dressed in the lightest-weight leggings he had, falling against the cool marble and letting that coolness seep into his clammy skin. Seconds of the hot, damp air already had him sweating, and Thor hated it.

Meanwhile, Sif sat against Loki's chest, allowing him to knead knots out of her shoulders. "You could stop these happening, you know," he said, teasing. "You swing too much from the back, never from the elbow or the wrist. Brute force, all you warriors rely upon it far too heavily."

Sif chuckled, head lolling back. A few loose strands fluttered out of her braided topknot and clung to Loki's neck, to the patina of sweat glistening there. "But then I would not have so wonderful an excuse to sit here, half-naked, in your hands."

Loki conceded with a charming little smirk and a shrug, hands sliding down Sif's bare back, to her ribs. His thumbs dug into the muscle around her spine, long fingers stretching into soft flesh. "You argue your case well, love. You would do well as a diplomat, if not for your desire to batter your opponents into submission."

"What can I say?" Sif rolled her neck, joints popping loudly. "I like to see them on their knees."

"I can't think of anyone displeased by the sight of someone kneeling." Loki hummed, hands moving down to Sif's waist. "Lie down, if you please."

Sif laughed then, bright and chiming, as she nestled her chin on her fingers, allowing Loki to straddle her thighs and work the tension out of the small of her back. "Are you sure this is no more than a friendly massage, my liege? You wouldn't take advantage of one so small and weak of frame as I?" She fluttered her lashes, and laughed at the absurdity of it. Any man attempting to take advantage, no matter her state, would find himself incapacitated before his next breath was drawn.

"Milady, of the two of us, I fear 'tis I who must wonder if any machinations are afoot," Loki said gravely, kissing her hair and laughing himself. "You, dearest, are anything but weak." He dug his thumbs into a particularly tight knot, and Sif moaned appreciatively, eyes falling shut. "Or small. You tower over more than half the court."

Sif allowed him his flattery, letting him run through an ever-lengthening laundry list of her many virtues as he rubbed relaxation into her skin. Once she felt appropriately boneless, she rolled over and toppled him to the mat, allowing herself another silent giggle at the way his eyes flickered valiantly between her face and her chest. She knew, quite well, that she was beautiful. She heard it often enough, from Loki and every other man in the Realm, from the eyes that followed her and the throats that jerked at the sight of her. And now, she intended to use that to her advantage.

After all, what greater pleasure was there than seeing someone on their knees?

From the very start of their official courtship, Loki had been very clear on a few specific boundaries:

He would not make theirs a public relationship, to the best of their abilities to keep to themselves; bad things happened to his partners, things which he did not wish to see happen to her.

He would not expect her to be as Odin believed a woman should, and he would not behave as Odin believed befitting of a man. Neither of them were necessarily the Asgardian ideal of their sex, in temperament, and Loki was never a fan of self-inflicted torture.

He would not, most frustratingly of all, share a bed with her beyond what they had done before the horse, or even, on occasion, before the Ice Witch.

For a while, Sif had wondered if it was her. If, after a skilled sorceress more adept at changing her shape than even Loki and a stallion more than eight times her size, she simply wasn't enough.

Loki, of course, had seen that thought almost as soon as it crossed her mind and, after pinning her down and putting that silver tongue to good use, had explained quite seriously that he didn't want her to bear the mantle of his apparent shame.

_Everyone I take,_ he'd said, arms wrapped around her as her breathing slowed to normal, _ends up a parent. No matter what, from the first union onwards, each one is, to be blunt, fruitful. You have a life here, a position, a reputation. I do not wish to rob you of it. _

Sif thought that was utter nonsense, but she had no real argument against it beyond a childishly simple _but I want to._ She knew the stigma, the shame, in having a child without being married - hell, she knew the shame of doing anything Odin didn't approve of - so she held her tongue and made him promise to use his. He seemed quite pleased to do so - whether it was the act itself, her resultant happiness, or the way around bedding her, she did not know and did not care to know.

Loki shot her a look, licking his lips clean, and rolled onto his chest. "Reciprocity is a wonderful institution, beloved, and I am sore."

Sif rolled her eyes and dug the heels of her hands into the cool planes of his back, skin whispering on skin, and Loki smiled. "That's clear. You're wincing."

"It hurts so _nicely_," Loki hummed, cracking his neck. "A little to your left, please?" Sif complied, and Loki rippled like silk in a stiff breeze. "Thank you."

A few minutes passed, and Loki's muscles finally loosened to the point that he could feel something in them besides _sore. _After a day of training, he sometimes wondered how the rest of the warriors had enough energy to go to massive dinners and drink and revel with the whole court when all he wanted to do was sleep. He slumped down into the pillow of his reedy forearms and let his eyes fall shut.

Sif shook his shoulder. "Loki? Love, wake up. You're on the _floor. _The sweat of a thousand warriors is on this floor. That is truly disgusting."

Loki jolted, wincing. "My apologies. I'm... I don't sleep well." Loki had never been much of a sleeper. As an infant, he'd often sleep through the day and keep everyone up all night with his cheerful babble; as a child, he rarely slept through the night, spending hours upon hours in Odin's room, quietly accepting the flagellation and stumbling, exhausted, through the day. Even now, his nights were plagued with nightmares - of his children, no more than babies, drifting through the most hostile Realms and the space between them; of Sleipnir being beaten into emptiness by Odin, losing himself piece by piece to the crack of Odin's crop against his hide, raising thick stinging weals on his flesh; or, worst of all, the nightmares that he dared not speak of, dared not think of. The nightmares that he drowned in his own mind, full of quiet, frozen whispers and crushing fear.

Sif frowned, helping Loki up and stroking his hair. Loki practically purred, leaning into her hand and the comfort of someone's hand against his scalp as she guided him back to his room. "Come, now, love. I only meant that you oughtn't sleep on anything other than a bed. It bodes poorly for your comfort." She manhandled Loki into sleep clothes, catching more than a few very pleasant eyefuls as she went, and helped him into his bed. _"Sleep."_

Loki huffed, nodding, and curled up into his pillow. Sif smiled softly and brushed his hair off his cheek, kissed his temple, before leaving the room. It was tempting to stay, to slip into bed beside him, and sleep with him until morning, but that which is tempting is not always wise.

Sif slipped down the hall on silent feet, fawn-colored leather gliding noiselessly over the slick marble. She cocked her head, slipping into the shadows to watch Thor trundle past. He was rumpled, the creases of his bedding pressed into his golden skin, hair mussed on one side and flattened on the other - he'd been sleeping. _Why is he awake? _

She stepped out of the shadow of the pillars, making her presence known, and Thor looked over his shoulder at her, startling like a rabbit. "Oh! Sif. What wakens you at this hour?"

"I could ask as much of you, my friend," she replied before explaining: "I only just left the training hall."

Thor nodded. "I... Loki does not sleep well. It helps him, some nights, if I - if _someone_ is with him," he corrected himself. He carried himself far more nervously than usual. His shoulders were curled inwards, neck bowed, as if he was hiding or ashamed. That, in and of itself, was dissonant enough with his usual comportment to throw Sif off balance.

"In all honesty, I was with him until now. He fell asleep in the training hall, on the floor. He is exhausted." Sif shifted her weight, rubbing her wrist. She was not supposed to be in any man's room while unwed, and in no room other than her husband's without a chaperone as a married woman. Thor's allegiance to Odin's strictures was always somewhat nebulous, and Sif was never certain whether or not he would expose her illicit behaviors.

Thor smiled gratefully, and it illuminated the corridor. "Thank you, Sif. You are a good friend, to all of us. I ought to keep that in mind." He resolved to do so. His jealousy, his feelings for Loki, were not pertinent. His emotions, his attachments, were to be put aside for the betterment of Asgard. Besides, Sif is good for Loki, he thought, wrapping his thick arms around her and hugging her tight.

Sif flinched, confused and startled, but sank into the embrace. "I... I do so of my own will. I enjoy your company, yours and Hogun's and Fandral's and Volstagg's and Loki's. It behooves me to be your friend." She let go, pulling back, and smiled. "I think, now, I shall go to bed. Good night, Thor."

"Good night, milady," Thor said. Sif walked back to her room and readied herself for bed as the thunderer entered Loki's bedchambers, sitting down at his side. Loki squirmed, eyes shut tight and brow furrowed, and let out a pained noise. "My poor brother. I am so sorry that you suffer this way." He ran one hand through Loki's hair, feeling the cold sweat beading on his scalp. Loki's forehead smoothed, and he went still and silent, cool and calm.

Thor slid down to lie on his side by Loki, hand tangled in his hair, and kissed his forehead. Loki sighed, pressing himself into his brother's chest, and finally relaxed, finally slept.

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**I hope you all liked ****this chapter. This one was kind of tough to write. I kept on getting stuck. **

**Maybe reviews will help me?  
(Probably not. I'm sorry for misleading you.)**

**Please review anyways!**


	23. Chapter 23: Searches(1)

**I'm just saying this because it needs to be said. SweetPoffin's cover of Hellfire from The Hunchback Of Notre Dame(Disney), or every damn version of the song, always reminds me a little of Thorki. That might make it sound like I think Thorki is all creepy and unhealhty and fbleeped up. There are some parts which don't do it for me. Thor ****doesn't threaten to kill Loki for not loving him, and Loki isn't some dancing girl and he's loved, primarily, in his male form. (Although Thor just DGAF because Loki is Loki and Loki is beautiful.) I do think, however, the "righteous" part is reminiscent of Thor pre-banishment, where he believes himself to be above contempt - I have to work on the arrogance a little more, because I am making him too soft and sweet, but I know just where it's going to come in - and the constant fire? Loki was, originally, a fire god. So. Boom. **

**Also, one reviewer asked for - well, timidly and sweetly suggested - that I have a chapter where Loki discovers and reacts to Thor's feelings for him. Sweet, sweet reader! You are in my brain or something, because that's something I've wanted for ages and now, with the flames of Hel on my side(intentional), I know just how to do it. It's coming.**

**I hope you all like this chapter. The current numbers are:**

**Thorki - 12**

**Sorki - 1**

**Sifki - 0**

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_Six months later..._

Spring had crept up on Loki, sneaking up behind him and tripping him. He hadn't seen it coming and, unawares, had been struck with the sudden influx of official engagements and new children. More than half the court was either twisted up in new pairs with beads in their braids and their hair tied back, signaling to others that no new offers were to be made, or dandling a new infant on their lap.

Fat and soft and sweetly cooing, little round-faced babes suddenly filled the court, and Loki felt freshly gutted. Three-year-old wounds bled anew, raw and ragged, and he had sequestered himself to his room and the stables, hiding. Sleipnir was rarely present in his stall, as Odin rode often, but when he was, he was still grown. The dusk-grey stallion would never be Loki's little boy, would never again be a child to raise, and Loki couldn't help but be sickened by that. It seemed as if he had abandoned his children, one and all, and that demanded rectifying.

Gna, one of Frigga's personal court, breezed past him in the hall, and even she held a newborn in her arms. It cooed wetly, round cheeks flushed, and flapped its pudgy hands at Loki eagerly. "Will you hold her, milord?" she asked, a little breathless. "I am running down a half-dozen little ones, and - "

"'Tis no trouble," Loki said, scooping up the little girl. She giggled, settling into his grip so that her soft shift bunched under her arms and her softly rounded belly was visible, and gummed on her fingers. "Hello, sweet thing. What's your name?"

"She's called Krási," Gna huffed out, breaking into a sprint and chasing down one of the many children in her care. Stout and blond, the tyke rolled himself down the hall, giggling loudly. "No! Sweetheart, keep out of there!"

Loki looked back at the tot in his arms. She stared straight back, head tilted, as if issuing a challenge. Loki crossed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and stuck out his tongue. Krási squealed, laughing until her little round face flushed scarlet, and Loki held her against his shoulder. It was only briefly that he thought on her similarities to his brother, on what the thunderer would look like with his own little ones scrambling over him. "Well, little girl. How would you like to see the gardens?"

It was there that Sif found him, bouncing her over his knees to her infantile delight. Krási giggled and squealed, doing her best to jump off of his thighs and go higher, higher. Loki did his best to do just that, but even his long arms only reached so far. She sat down at his side, quiet, and smiled. "You're good with her."

"I've had practise," Loki replied, eyes sliding down to his knees. Krási gurgled, patting his head in a clumsy attempt at comfort, and Loki smiled up at her. "And besides. She's a very good little girl." As Krási preened, Loki blew a raspberry on her stomach and she laughed brightly, squirming. "Aren't you? I think so." Krási laughed louder, nodding, and Loki pulled back, smoothing her shift and hair back into order.

Krási let out a quiet, satisfied noise and cuddled into his chest, sucking on her little dimpled fist lazily. Sif admired the picture the two of them made, rubbing Loki's shoulder through his coat. Quickly, the little girl fell asleep, drooling on Loki's tunic, and he smiled over at Sif.

She kissed him, soft and swift. "You miss them."

Loki laughed, rough and wet. "I was sixteen, when Fenrir was born. Before his conception, I could not fathom parenthood, and after his birth, I could not fathom a world in which I was not a father. It is... it is the greatest thing in the world, love, beloved, and yet every child I care for is given unto suffering as easily as breath is given to lungs." He slumped, weary, onto the slope of Sif's shoulder, green eyes shut. "Yes. I miss them every second of every minute of every hour of every day. I miss them with everything I have and then more. I would give anything to have my children back - so, yes. I suppose saying that I miss them would adequately convey my feelings on the matter."

Sif sighed. "There is no need to be caustic, dearest. I meant only to remind you that, on the eve of your first return, your mother, brother, and I all swore to assist you in recovering your children once you were well again. As best anyone can glean, you are sane and healthy. I would like to start looking for them."

Loki bolted upright, eyes wide open and glittering against the sunlight. "Do not toy with me, beloved - are you certain?"

Before Sif's affirmative could evacuate her throat, Loki was kissing her. This was no greeting peck; deep and slow and meaningful, incendiary, silver tongue asserting its presence just enough to debone her knees, this kiss was laden - dripping, oozing - with meaning. This was the most earnest thanks he could give her, and Sif tangling her fingers in his hair was more than enough of a reply.

At last, pulling back to catch lost breath, Loki managed to grab hold of enough to gasp out a swollen-lipped, "I love you."

"And I love you." Their foreheads rested together, pale and smooth as marble, and they smiled at the same time. "Now, come. We'd best get her to bed."

They soon found Gna, children crawling all over her, and handed Krási back over with promises to babysit whenever she'd like before seeking out Thor. They found him where he spent most of his time, in the forests, summoning storms as soon as destroying them.

He avoided the court through no designs of loathing; rather, he kept himself away because seeing them all with their children and their lovers made him fantasize, not of the baser images that so often filled his mind in the bath or in bed, but of caring for his own children with his brother at his side. Seeing that great hall filled to near bursting with new families made it all the more difficult to avoid his desire to start one with Loki, and Thor had never been much good at controlling himself.

Sif strode up behind Thor, tapping his shoulder as he struck ground with the full might of an admittedly impressive downswing, the muscles of his back roiling beneath his skin. The sky burned, if only for an instant, thick purple clouds boiling with thunder, and he turned away from the crater. "Ah! What can I do for you, my friend? Brother?" He smiled, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and pushing his hair off his forehead.

Loki smiled back, hands clasped. "It is time. To start looking, to find my children."

Thor's face fell into a solemn expression; as pleased as he was that Loki and his beloved spawn would be reunited, it was a dangerous mission solely on the merit of the Realms they'd need to visit. Incurring the wrath of Odin on top of the actual details of the plan was sheer madness, but there was a hopeful light in Loki's eyes which had long since left, and which Thor never had been capable of denying. "Tell me where I ought to venture, and I shall go, brother."

"Thank you." Loki's arms were wrapped around Thor in an instant, hands buried in the sweat-soaked locks curling at the nape of his neck. "Thor... _Thank you." _For one usually so eloquent, Loki suddenly found what he felt too big to express through words; instead, he hid his face in the crook of Thor's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, and tugged on his hair, breathing him in.

"You know there is nothing I would not do for you, little brother," Thor whispered, bulky arms settling around Loki's waist and pulling him in closer. _Like this_, he thought with his eyes firmly shut, _I can almost imagine that he does so for its intended purpose._

Sif looked on, arms crossed. Perhaps their embrace was a little too loving, Thor's hands a little too low or Loki's too possessive. Something slick and suspicious coiled in her gut as she watched them together, and try as she might, she could not shake it.

* * *

**Old Norse time! Krási is my somewhat feminized form of the Old Norse word krás, which means dainty.  
Gna was actually one of Frigga's handmaidens, though she didn't have anything to do with children.**

**I hope you all like it! Merry Belated Solstice and Happy Preemptive Christmas! And remember:**

**All I want for Christma-_a_-a-_a_-as is re_views!_**


	24. Chapter 24: Searches(2)

**Hello! There are now:**

**13 votes for Thorki, 1 vote for Sorki, and 2 for Sifki.**

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* * *

_Ten minutes later..._

The three of them rushed to Frigga's chambers as quickly as they could without arousing suspicion, and as soon as they arrived, she banished her handmaidens from the room. Two of them, Lofn and Sjöfn, guided Thor and Loki onto a settee with room for just two, barely, before leaving all atwitter. Thor's ears burned and he untucked his hair from behind them so that they could hide the oh-so-apparent display of shame and attraction, hands tucked beneath the meat of his thighs.

Loki didn't seem to be bothered by how close they were pushed, leaning forward with his elbows digging into his knees. "Mumma, Sif said that it's time to begin the search for my stolen children."

Frigga smiled broadly, hands smoothing the soft silk folds of her dress. "Yes. You are well, Loki, returned tenfold in strength and wisdom. We will find your little ones."

Loki nodded, squeezing Sif's hand from her perch on the arm of the sofa. "Thank you. May we begin planning?"

Nodding, Frigga rose, drawing out a map of Yggdrasil and all the realms. "Now. Loki, where were your children banished to?"

His hand slipped free of Sif's as he stepped forward, leaning over the parchment. "Hela was sent to Niflheim," he said, quiet. "And Jormungandr to the seas of Midgard."

Thor spoke up, shuffling to Loki's side and peering over his shoulder, one hand resting casually on his waist. Thor didn't notice he'd done it until he felt Loki's ribs rising and falling under his thumb and forefinger, and then his ears, hidden behind his hair, blazed once more. "There was a third, wasn't there? Fenrir. The wolf."

Loki nodded, swallowing a jagged, cutting lump in his throat. "He... He was thrown into the Void."

Sif slipped in against Loki's chest, hugging him tight and ignoring how sick she felt at the sound of that. Thor, similarly, hunched over as if he'd been punched in the gut. Frigga's eyes blazed gold, fluttering tendrils of magic leaking from her fingertips as she thought of all the ways she could hurt Odin for doing this to Loki, to his children who were not even a year old.

"There is always Grandmother," Sif finally proposed, forehead resting on Loki's clavicle, hands gripping his sleeves. "She carries all - "

"My children are not dead." It was immediate, Loki spitting the words out like bullets, and every syllable hit like a brick.

"I am not saying that they are," she soothed. "But, aside from carrying all dead children with her, she knows where every child is. Fenrir is still a child, even by lupine standards. She will be able to locate him for us, and then, we need only go to him and bring him home." Sif looked up and saw Loki's eyes burning, and kissed him sweetly, stroking his cheek. "Beloved, I meant not to upset you. Of course they are not dead - if they are anything at all like their father, they are brilliant and wily and wise. Nothing, living or dead, could ever harm them so gravely."

Loki nodded mutely, eyes fixed on the map. "Do you know where Grandmother is?" he asked, looking to Frigga.

"She has her own pathways between the worlds. Hers through Asgard is only just outside the forests." Quickly, she wrapped her arms around her son. "Be safe, little one, and bring me back my grandchildren."

Loki nodded, eyes shut tight as he relished the warmth of his mother's hug. After a few moments, they let each other go, and Loki ran off with Thor and Sif on his heels.

They blazed through the halls, streaking around corners and through corridors, avoiding those who walked in the opposite direction so as not to cause a collision, until Thor caught sight of Odin's door opening and dragged Loki into the shadows, hiding him.

Sif, who had not noticed and who had not been hidden, nearly smashed into the old man. "Oh! Allfather, my apologies. I did not see you."

Odin huffed. "'Twas once a time when I could not take three steps without some maiden of your caliber _seeing _me," he drawled. Sif shuddered at the way his remaining eye raked over her, up and down and up and down. There was blood on his hands, enough that the idea of them _touching_ her sickened her beyond sense.

Loki's hackles rose, eyes flaring, and Thor manhandled him so he could not see what transpired now, in the plain light of day, in a common corridor.

"Luckily, Lady Sif, I saw you. I have a job for you tonight."

Loki began struggling. This was too much. Everything Odin had ever done was too much, but here, blatantly seeking to lie with his fiancee right before his eyes, Loki could easily stop it.

"Do not let him distract you," Thor whispered in his ear, the barest hints of stubble catching against the cartilaginous crests. "Think only of your children, and of nothing else." Thor was doing exactly that, and thanking the Norns each second that he could control himself in these tight quarters, with Loki pressed, cool and sleek and slender, against him, practically alight with passion. Granted, that passion was fury, and Loki's squirming was not at all an attempt to seek pleasure from him, but it would be so easy to forget that and make a move.

So Thor thought only of the mission.

Meanwhile, Sif asked, voice as steady as she could make it, "What are my orders, Highness?"

"There is a diplomatic liason in Vanaheim, and not only would you be worth beyond your weight as a guard, but you look Vanir enough that they would be pleased to see you there."

Sif fought a frown. This was not what she had trained for, babysitting an old drunk and letting strangers ogle her. She was a warrior, not some common wench, but still, she had no choice but to comply.

"Of course, milord, I shall go with you to Vanaheim." With a quick bow, Sif hustled away, barely restraining herself from breaking out into a full sprint.

"Be packed by noon, for we ride at dusk," Odin called, turning to watch her depart with an appraising gleam in his eye. "The whore-runt has taste, I'll give it that." He returned to his quarters, door locked and shut, and finally Loki was let out of Thor's arms.

"I hate him," Loki whispered bitterly. "I don't want to hate him - I don't want to hate anyone - and yet I cannot help myself. We should catch up to Sif, oughtn't we?"

Thor sighed, following him. The warrior hadn't made it far, and they soon found her, visibly shaking. Loki cupped her cheeks in his hands, checking her for some kind of injury before hugging her tight, fingers combing through her hair. "I cannot come tonight," she managed after a few minuted, words muffled by Loki's shoulder. "I am called away. He must know something, or think he knows something - I am so sorry, my love."

"It is not of import," Loki murmured, kissing her hair. "We will start searching today, and when you return, it will be to a family. Whole and numerously populated. Odin cannot touch you."

It had always been common practise amongst kings throughout history to take many wives, many concubines. For some women, the chance to bed a king was even an honour, a chance at attaining greater status or even queenhood. Odin had never strayed from that tradition, and while many Aesir women had desired him in his youth, now the thought was more disturbing than anything else. Still, if the Allfather asked - ordered, really - you obeyed.

Sif knew that that was a lie. Odin could and would do with her as he liked. Still, the platitude served its purpose and for a few moments, she was comforted by it. "Sleipnir will be happy to have his brothers and sisters, won't he?"

"Yes. He's going to adore them." Loki pulled back enough to kiss his fiancee, fingers braiding themselves into her dark tresses, and Sif followed suit, delicate digits twining into his curls.

Thor closed his eyes and tried not to feel so jealous of Sif in that moment. He did not want her life - he did not want to struggle for respect as a warrior, as she did, or suffer the advances of drunken courtiers, as she did, or know that at any moment, the Allfather could call him to his bedchambers and do what he liked with him, as she did - but he wanted Loki.

He wanted Loki to look at him like that, to hold him like that and to kiss him like that and to want him like that. He wanted Loki's hands in his hair and Loki's lips on his and Loki's bead in his hair, or his in Loki's - either way was enough for him, although the idea of being _Loki's_, exclusively possessed by him, sent bright, sweet sparks through him.

"As much as I adore you," Loki finished, lips swollen and red, their foreheads pressed together. "We are a family, beloved, even if not by law, and by the time you return from Vanaheim, we will be completed."

Sif smiled, kiss-stained lips curving up ceaselessly. "I will see you, then, Loki." Another kiss - thankfully shorter, though perhaps all the more needy - and she departed, leaving a faintly-reeling Loki with a ludicrous grin on his face.

Thor couldn't help but smile at the sight of his brother so happy, but still, he wished that it was his kisses that had left Loki dazed and smiling. "Come, brother. We need to find Grandmother."

Grandmother was not really anyone's grandmother. She was older, perhaps, than time itself, and more mystery than fact. It was known that she collected the souls of children, that she bore them in her great wagon through the Void, that she cared for them as any parent would.

Some said she had lost her own children, and took those who had died so she could restart her own family. Some said she killed the children to get them, while others said she ate children once they'd been fattened up.

Most of the rumours were utter idiocy, but Loki understood if she cared for the souls of children because she could not care for her own. He understood wanting your babies back and never being able to have them. He understood that loss, and he could only hope that she would understand in kind and help them.

With that in mind, he and Thor took off for the stables. It was journeys like the one they were about to undertake, long enough to get bored, that Loki missed Svaðilfari. He was a good conversationalist, a fantastic friend. Sometimes Loki wondered if he would return to them eventually, and be a father to his son; of course, he then remembered that Svaðilfari left because he couldn't take the sight of his son in chains and his lover broken, and knew that it was impossible to bring him back while Odin still reigned - no, while he still lived.

Loki wondered how easy it would be to overthrow the old beast as he bridled a stock horse, with no particular rider and no personality to speak of.

_Sleipnir_ whinnied. _Mumma!_

_I'm here, little one. _Loki stopped, letting go of the kit in his hands in favour of dashing to his son and hugging him tight. He was practically a full-grown stallion, now, all bulk, all muscle. _Not so little anymore, I must note, but always my baby. _

_Always, Mumma. But why are you here? _Sleipnir nosed at Loki's curls, breathing in his mother's scent. It hadn't even been a day since he'd seen Loki, but the foal loved seeing him, despite Odin's promise - if Loki attempted to break him out, or to run away, or do anything involving his children, he would be killed in the most brutal and torturous fashion while Sleipnir watched, and he would know his death was due to the foal's actions.

Loki, still unaware of that dark oath, smiled and kissed Sleipnir between the eyes. _Today, Uncle Thor and I are going to find your older brothers and sister. _

Sleipnir blinked. This was not good, this was very, very not good. It wasn't included in Odin's promise, not directly, but Sleipnir didn't want Loki to die. _Oh? Where will you go?_

_We have not yet decided, but we will bring them all home, and we will be a family._

Loki sounded so happy, in a way that Sleipnir had not heard since before he had been bridled - since before the monster-man took him. The stallion wanted nothing less than to break that happiness, but was it better for Loki to die happy or live broken?

_I wish you luck, Mumma._

Thor and Loki left eventually, Thor astride one of his admittedly terrifying goats, and rode for the woods. They rode past Iddun's glittering apple orchard, near-blinded by the light bouncing off of tart golden fruit, and past the mountain where Thor had first gotten his wooly, toothy steeds. It took hours, and even Loki, who had always loved riding, was sore from his hips to his toes by the end of their journey.

There, above an old farm run down by time, was a shimmering spot in the air, like a flag in the breeze. It looked as if it had tried very hard to conceal itself, the faintest hints of white magic flickering at the edges to keep it synchronized with the rest of the sky. Loki bolted upright, balancing on his stallion's broad back, and peeled it aside, peering through. "Hello? Grandmother?"

There was a great rattling noise, like old wooden wheels against uneven cobblestones, and a great wagon pulled to a stop inches from his nose. A figure wrapped in dark shawls sat at the front, and the bonnet was pulled up, concealing whatever it carried. The bundled-up figure stepped out and took down her hood.

Grandmother was short. Less than five feet high, she was minuscule, with papery wrinkled skin and a dandelion-puff of stark white hair tucked behind near-comically large ears. Beneath her thick, dark cloak was a soft, worn dress, patterned with blue bugles and purple orchids, and her pockets were stuffed with babies' blankets. Her hands, gnarled with old age and use, were just as papery, translucent skin revealing thready blue veins beneath, and out from under her dress, soft leather boots peeked out, so creased and cracked with age that their colour was no longer discernible. She stooped down to cup Loki's cheeks and kiss his forehead before speaking in a soft, commanding voice. "Well, are you content to straddle the realms by the throat, or would you deign to ride with me, Trickster?" She smiled.

Loki pushed himself up through the tear and climbed into her wagon. It had very little legroom, and his knees were pressed almost up to his chin. "I am glad to see you, Grandmother. I hadn't thought it would be so easy to find you."

Grandmother chuckled, throaty and rich, and Loki suddenly felt very small - small enough to be cradled against someone's chest and held, small enough to have no worries. This smallness was different from the kind brought on by Odin's yelling and his beating. He felt safe. "Daft little prince! You found me so easily because I wanted to be found."

Loki nodded, hugging his knees. "I, erm..."

"You came to ask about the lovely Fenrir, did you not?"

Loki nodded, leaning against the hard wood jutting into his scapulae.

"He is your son, and a lovely cub." Grandmother cracked the reins, and the wagon started up again. "So few parents come to me about their children, especially when they are so certain that their children, though separated from their family, live. An old king came to me, years and years ago, and asked about one child in particular. A little Frost Giant princeling, no more than six months old, had disappeared from a Jotun temple. The queen was certain that he lived, and while the king wanted nothing more than to believe her, the babe had disappeared during a great and terrible battle, and the Aesir do not respect the snow or the Void as do Jotun. It was not unlikely that some Asa had crept in and killed the child as it slept."

Loki winced, letting out a quiet whine. That was wrong, wrong wrong wrong. Why kill a child? Why do anything so horrible?

"But the princeling was not in my wagon, and I saw him, cared for and kept well, in Asgard, of all places." Grandmother looked over at Loki and smiled knowingly, smoothing his hair back. "No child of yours rides with me, princeling, though one may yet, in the years to come."

Loki shook his head, trying to deny what he knew must be true; Grandmother did not, could not, lie. "I don't want that," he managed, tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. "I don't want that. Don't let it happen. They are good babies. Don't let him hurt them."

Grandmother tutted, shaking her head and looking at him with sad, old eyes. "You poor, sweet boy. I have always looked after you, never sure if you would join me or grow on, but now... What a fine man you have become. Do not let yourself grow coldhearted from all the sorrows you bear."

Loki nodded, kissing her cheek.

"Now, Fenrir." Grandmother closed her eyes, white magic swirling around her, and Loki watched, fascinated. "Your little Hela is quite the sorceress. Just like her mother - just like you. And she loves her brothers quite an awful lot." The magic took on shapes, denser and clearer, edges sharp.

A little girl, a toddler, reaching out through the void and, with magic stronger than Loki could believe, drawing a wolf cub chained to a rock to her. The wolf howled, drawing nearer, and nuzzled her cheek fondly. The little girl giggled and kissed the cub's snout, breaking his chains with her fist.

"You will find two children in a small corner of Niflheim known as Hel, named for its once and future queen. The third child, the middling son, writhes in the seas of Midgard, grown fat and strong off the bounties they hold. Decide who you trust, for there is not time to visit both realms before the blind god returns." Grandmother kissed Loki's cheeks and turned the wagon back towards the path to Asgard. "Such a brave boy," she whispered, ruffling his curls. "Be brave now, more than ever before, for there is a difficult choice to make."

Loki nodded, still transfixed by the little white puppet show. Now the princess hoisted herself onto the cub's back, legs broken and twisted and useless, and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the soft fur between his ears. _My princess, _he thought._ My cub._

"Thank you, Grandmother." He stepped out of the wagon and back into Asgard, watching as Grandmother reached back and bundled a babe in a soft swaddling blanket, cradling it close and singing it back to sleep.

_If one of mine must go to her,_ he thought, seating himself on the stallion's back, _I am glad that they will be cared for. _

"What did Grandmother say?" Thor asked, looking Loki over. His brother seemed distant, as if still half-dreaming.

Loki shook himself awake, turning to look at Thor properly. "She said lots of things. All of them are safe, and healthy. Hela and Fenrir are together, now, which is good. They ought to have family, and she is just so little."

Thor smiled, resting his hand on Loki's neck affectionately. His fingers insinuated themselves amongst the roots of Loki's curls, and his thumb drew lazy circles over the hook of Loki's jaw. "That is wonderful news, brother."

Loki nodded. "We shall have to take on separate realms. There is not time enough for us to move in one group." He gave his horse a kick, just enough to get him moving, and Thor cajoled his billy into a swift, jaunty trot. "Would you take Midgard or Niflheim?"

The thunderer thought for a few minutes, staring at possibilities rather than at the landscape before him. "I think Midgard. Two of your children reside in Niflheim; it is only right that you retrieve them."

"Thank you, brother." Loki guided his stallion in close, so that there was barely a breath's space between them. Without thinking, he leaned enough to close the distance and kissed Thor's cheek, lips barely half an inch from the blond's.

Thor's ears burned and he nodded, once, spurring the goat on. Loki galloped after him, clods of dirt flying up into the air after them, and they reached the castle mere minutes before dusk.

Sif, packed for Vanaheim, was loading her trunk into a carriage when the two of them arrived at the gates. Loki quickly dismounted, picking her up by the waist and spinning, laughing. When, finally, they stopped, he kissed her as if starved.

Thor turned his back.

"We have a plan," Loki whispered at last, voice low and rough and a little breathless. "We have a plan, we're getting them back."

"That explains your good mood," Sif replied, grinning. Her cheeks were flushed, and Loki kissed over them, too.

"What - are you doubting your ability to make any man so happy?" he retorted, tugging gently at her hair. Sif bit her lip, stifling a noise, and kissed him hard.

"Never. But nothing brings a smile to that handsome face more than the thought of your children." Sif finally slipped from Loki's grasp and stepped into the carriage, still squeezing his hand. "Good luck to you all, love."

Loki's grin stretched wider and he nodded. "Return quickly."

"I always do." With that, the entire campaign party took off, leaving the two princes in their dust, and Thor shielded Loki's eyes. He couldn't help but notice how soft his brother's skin was, couldn't help but wonder if he was so soft everywhere else.

Once the dust had settled, his hand slid back to Loki's hair and tugged gently. "Come, brother. We have business of our own to attend to."

Loki let out a little noise that deboned Thor from femur to toe, leaning so that the tug packed a harder punch. After a few seconds, Thor let go, tucking his hands into fists to disguise their trembling, and they made their way to his chambers to prepare for their mission.

* * *

**Mythology time! The Dark Grandmother was an old goddess who drove a wagon along the branches of Yggdrasil, the world tree. That wagon was full of children who had died. She was the one who took care of them in the afterlife. **

**I hope you all enjoy this chapter of nearly 4,000 words and have a happy holidays!**


	25. Chapter 25: Searches(3)

**So! No reviews, and a distinctive decline in responses. How have I displeased you, O Readers?**

**It's okay, really. I just thought that, perhaps, if you dislike it, you could drop a dime in the ****review box and let me know what, exactly, you're not enjoying, so I can fix it.**

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_Two hours later..._

Thor, dressed in his best approximation of contemporary Midgardian attire, slung a pack of supplies over his shoulder and squeezed Loki's. "We meet at the base of the mountain when we've got them all."

Loki nodded, face set in a grim, unflappably determined frown. "You'll bring back Jormungandr, and I'll return with Fenrir and Hela. It shouldn't be difficult." Still, Grandmother's words rang through his head: _No child of yours rides with me, princeling, though one may yet, in the years to come. _That was so far removed from what Loki wanted for his children that he could not imagine it. No one would dare kill his children, not even Odin. No matter the Allfather's feelings towards his youngest son, Loki's children were innocent of any misdeed their father may have perpetrated, and they deserved no equal suffering.

Thor saw all of this flitting across Loki's fine features and cupped his cheeks gingerly, tipping his brother's face up and looking him in the eye. "It won't be. In no time at all, they will be reunited with you, and all will be well. No one can take this from you, my Loki."

Loki's breath hitched, lips parted, and Thor swallowed hard. In hindsight, this tactic was not well-planned, and now, so very close to what he wanted, Thor was hard-pressed not to reach out and _take_ it. One thumb, errant and independent, slid up and stroked the swell of Loki's lip, feeling the fullness of it, the curve and the give and the alarming lack of heat, and Thor's throat convulsed. Careful, the thunderer bestowed a soft, innocent kiss on Loki's forehead and felt it smooth out beneath the pressure of his lips.

"Be safe, little one," he murmured hoarsely, heart pummeling the underside of his skin. So brutal was his pulse that he was certain it would bruise him from the inside out.

"And you, brother," Loki replied. The callused pads of Thor's fingers just barely kissed the hair at the nape of his neck, and the sensation of it _did things_ to Loki, things he did not expect or even want from a brother.

Thor made his way towards the Bifrost, to Heimdall. No more than five-foot-six, with gleaming white teeth and equally luminous gold eyes, Thor understood the rumor that the little guard had once slept on an ear of corn. He was miniscule.

"Where are you intending to go, milord?" he peeped, pushing his helm out of his eyes.

"Midgard," Thor said. He hitched his bag up higher, smiling down at the teenager.

"I am afraid not, milord, not without an escort. 'Tis the Allfather's decree." Heimdall looked apologetic, eager to please, and Thor almost felt sorry for the boy. "You may take Hymir, milord. He is our top expert on Midgard. He will be of great use to you."

Thor huffed out his acquiescence, nodding. "I must depart now. If he is not here in two minutes, I will depart without him."

Unfortunately, Odin's scholar had arrived in forty seconds, and they departed before a minute had passed. Upon arrival, they managed to find a boat within the hour, and they set out on Midgard's rough grey-blue seas.

"There is a serpent," Thor said, squinting at the crests of the waves. "He is crimson and black, and he dwells in the seas of this Realm. We are to catch him without harming him in any way, is that understood?"

"Yes, milord." Hymir nodded, taking the other end of their ship with the utmost of resolute obedience.

For hours, they scoured the sea for some sign of Jormungandr, nets dangling into the briny deep to drag him up. For hours, there was not a tug on their lines or on the nets, not a bump on their hull. For hours, there was no sign of Thor's reptilian nephew, and for hours, he was plagued with the horrific thought that he had failed the one person who mattered most to him.

And then, a miracle, there was a tug at one line, a great scarlet-scaled head breaking the surface of the waves and a great black eye looking dead at Thor, as if it recognized him.

"That's him! That's the snake!" Thor rejoiced, delighting in his discovery like a child would, and urged Jormungandr towards the shore. He thought nothing of Hymir's presence by the line, as it was on his end of the little skip, until there was a sharp pull - a snap, a snip - and then, suddenly, they stopped moving.

Hymir turned towards him, tucking a short iron dagger into his leggings, as if nothing was the matter. As if he had not just betrayed Thor.

"What have you done?" Thor stormed over to the aft deck, clouds boiling overhead, and he roared once more, fist clenched in the neck of Hymir's tunic, _"What have you done?"_

"I have done my duty unto my king," Hymir croaked, face going red. "I have done naught but what was right."

Thor squeezed tighter, and the flesh of Hymir's throat bulged obscenely around the tight noose of his collar. "You have separated a child from its father, you miserable traitor. Know you not the meaning of family, of loyalty? Of love?"

"I-I love my king. I am loyal to him - "

Thor dangled him over the edge of the ship, eyes dark and angry. "You have misplaced your love and loyalty, my friend. I only hope you have done your duty unto the seas of this world, and that you will not drown too quickly." With that, he let go, and Hymir dropped into the waves, gasping and treading water as best he could. "Perhaps Jormungandr will even take you for a snack."

Waiting, as still as stone, Thor sat on the prow of the skip with his toes dangling into the waves, looking for any sign of Loki's second son. The sun set, painting the sky vermillion and violet and indigo, and still, he waited. The night was cold, to be sure, and he shivered like leaves in the wind, but he would not - could not - move, for fear of letting his brother down.

After eight days, he finally returned to Asgard, empty-handed and cow-eyed with shame.

Meanwhile, at the dawn of this journey, Loki slipped through one of the secret bridges from branch to branch, glowing with hope. He would find his daughter, his eldest son, before the day was out. He would have his family back. He would have peace.

Striding out along the Tree, he whistled - whistled, cheerful, for the first time in years. The journey from the topmost branch to the lowest root took all of four days on foot, but the distance and the soreness of his bony feet did not bother him. They did not even cross his mind; the only thought in his boundless head was of his children, again in his arms.

Four days of walking, and Loki did not hunger, did not falter. At long last, at the gates of Niflheim, Loki felt the sharp sting of his blistered soles but, wincing, he carried on until he reached a craggy great castle, dark stony spires reaching into the icy grey skies as the dimmest fires burned weakly in hearth and lantern, and was guided in by translucent shades, dark and smoky against the cold air.

Eventually, winding through corridors that looked more like underground caves and tunnels than the sleek marble hallways he'd grown up in, Loki found himself in a throne room wrought of the same dark, glassy stone that made up the entire Realm, with a small toddler seated on the throne, a strong wolf with matted black fur at her side. The little girl smiled, hands in the cub's fur and legs limp and rotted-grey, and looked up at Loki with eyes as green as his peering out of her mother's face. "Who are you?" she asked, voice high and peeping sweetly.

"I am... I am your father, Hela." Loki stepped in closer, smiling at the sight of her. She was beautiful, clever, and Loki wanted nothing more than to hug her close. "You were but an infant when we were parted, but I have found you."

Hela cocked her head, peering at him curiously. "You are my papa. And Fenny's, too?" She nodded at the wolf at her feet. "He's my big brother, mister, and I won't go without him. He's my family - he's my _legs_."

"Of course, sweetheart." Loki knelt at the foot of her throne, stroking her tangled black curls off of her pale cheek. "He is my son as much as you are my daughter. You have another brother between you, Jormungandr, who your uncle is bringing him home, and a half-brother named Sleipnir. He is nearly a grown stallion now, and should you require it, I am more than certain that he would love to be your legs."

Hela smiled, dimples studding her round cheeks, and she reached out for Loki, sliding into his lap. "I'd like that, Papa."

Something, warm and fragile and glittering, bloomed in Loki's chest as he clutched his daughter to it, face buried in the sweetness of her silken curls, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I would like that, too, sweetheart. I would like that very much."

Fenrir sniffed at Loki's hands, judging him, remembering, and jumped to lick his chin.

"Papa, why are you crying?" Hela leaned back, starfish hands patting his cheeks tenderly.

"Because, princess, I am happy." Loki kissed her forehead, hugging his children close. "I have the two of you back, and there is nothing I have wanted more for nearly four years now."

"I'm nearly four," she chirped, resting under the hook of Loki's chin and chewing at her knuckles. "Well. I'm three, now, which is practically nearly four. The shades have cared for me as long, and Fenny's only been here for a few months, but they take care of him as best they can."

"That was very kind of them," Loki said quietly, raking long, pale fingers through her tangled ringlets. "Indeed, very kind. But now, little one, perhaps we should go home."

"Where is home, Papa?" Hela hugs the girth of his forearm, frowning as she wonders, and Loki kisses her hair once, twice, again and again. "Because you mean to leave, but I have known no home but this."

"In truth, when I speak of home, I mean only where I currently live. It is not a home such as this - I speak of Asgard."

Hela shakes her head, squirming. "Asgard is where the monster lives, Papa. He will eat us and try to fit our eyes into his empty socket - Papa, if Asgard is home, I do not wish to leave!"

Loki held fast, shushing her quietly until she calmed. "I know - I know better than most. As it stands, Asgard is home to few who would welcome us. But one day, I will be king, my little princess. Do you understand what that means?"

"You will rule over that gilded Realm of monsters." Hela trembled, hiding in his neck.

"I will, and I will make it better. No one need fear under my rein, Hela, and when 'tis I on that throne, Asgard may well and truly be our home. Wherever I am, princess, is a home to you should you desire it." Rocking gently, Loki rubbed her sparrow-bones back and kissed her curls. "You do not need to leave this Realm yet, for now it is the safest haven you may dwell in."

Loki realised, then, that he had not thought this through. There was no sense in secreting the toddler away from the only home she had ever known, to a place just as likely to kill her as to show her kindness. The only option - the only option with merit - was to let her stay here, to visit as often as was possible and to keep her safe with her brother.

"Papa, will you see us?"

"Whenever I can, my princess." Loki kissed her little hands then, smiling softly. "I will see you as often as I can, and when I am king, we will never be apart so long again."

He spent the day with his little princess, indulging in her favourite games and teaching her simple spells, combing and taming the wild curls that spilled down her neck. For one day, and one day only, he was her Papa as he had always wanted to be, chiding her to eat more than sweets at mealtimes and carrying her on his shoulders.

And then, as it always does, the sun set and the already dark skies darkened further. Loki carried his daughter to her bed, tucking the blankets up to her chin and singing, voice smooth and low and quiet, a lullaby that sent her into slumber. Fenrir curled up over her feet, watching him, before nodding. _Go, Papa. But know this - if you do not return for her, her heart will be broken. Do not hurt her so. _

"I would never dream to do so. I love her, as I love you, as I love all of my children." Loki smoothed his hand over the slope of Fenrir's skull, scratched behind his ear.

_Indeed. Love us enough to start looking years after we were parted, love us enough to leave us once more. Papa, I remember more than she does of you. I remember your kindness, your courage, how good you were to us. But, more than that, I remember how quickly you crumbled before the one-eyed monster. You cannot do that again, not to her._

"I will not. I give you my word."

_I ask the Norns that that be enough. Now, go._

Loki stood, stooping to kiss both their foreheads before departing. It was another four days before he reached Asgard, before he saw a haggard and hungry Thor stumble away from the Bifrost with a look in his eyes akin to that of a beaten dog. "Brother? What has - "

"I lost him." Thor sniffled, grinding the heel of one massive hand into his eyes. "I had Jormungandr, for but half an hour, and then he was lost to me again, and I waited - Loki, I promise you, I waited out eight days for him, but he never resurfaced." Thor, hunched, reached for Loki in an aborted, desolate motion. "I am so sorry, brother-mine."

Loki hugged him tight, arms wrapped around Thor's broad, heaving chest. "You have nothing to apologise for. You have done no wrong. Here, Jormungandr would have been killed as soon as kept, and those are odds which no man, no matter the greatness of his desperation, would ever undertake. Until a wiser head wears the crown of Asgard, the will stay in the Realms they now call home. It is what is best." Still, Loki shuddered at his eldest's words, for so precisely did they mirror his own for months after Odin had parted them that he began, once more, to think them, ducking into Thor's body.

"You wish they could have come with you." There is no question in Thor's voice, and he hugs Loki all the tighter for the manic loathing bleeding through his wiry frame. "You think that this is your fault, but Loki, this is not a situation in which blame can be placed. If this is not my fault, then it is not yours, either." Loki, ever the good listener, melted into Thor's chest, sucking in deep, shuddering breaths.

"He was so disappointed," he finally managed. "In me. My own son... He doesn't trust me not to hurt her, not to be strong enough to take care of them, and wh-what if I'm not?"

Thor loosened his hold and Loki struggled, pulling away, until the thunderer grabbed his wrists and held him fast. Even then, Loki still fought for a few moments more before meeting his brother's unwavering cerulean gaze.

_"You are." _Thor leaned in close to Loki, close enough to feel the ice of his breath on his cheeks. "You always have been. You simply must realize it, remember it. Do you understand?"

Loki nodded, swallowing hard. His world winnowed down to Thor - to the radiant heat bleeding into the air from his golden skin, the strength in his fingers wrought from decades of swinging Mjolnir, the shocking blue of his eyes - and, absently, he traced the lines of his lips with the wet tip of his tongue. "Yes. I understand."

"Good." Against his will, Thor's thumbs stroked over the silken expanse of Loki's wrists, calluses against pale, luminous flesh. Unwelcome, air invaded the microscopic distance between them where they touched, forcing Thor to let go with the quietest whisper of skin on skin, pulling apart. "Now. Knowing you, you have promised them visits - think on how your trips shan't take eight days, round trip."

Loki nodded, a watery smile shining out from the sharp angles of his face, and clasped Thor's hands in his own. "Thank you, Thor. For... Thank you." Eyes shut, dark lashes resting against pale cheeks, Loki kissed Thor's hands with a tangible, heady reverence. With that, Loki departed, a weak-kneed and addlepated Thor left in his wake.

Two blondes strode past, honey and sunlight and wheat dripping from their scalps in shining curls, hips swaying. Lofn and Sjöfn, Frigga's youngest handmaidens, stopped and turned, looking at Thor with a strange look in their eyes - part plotting, scheming madness and part pity, compassion.

Lofn took his left elbow and Sjöfn his right, and they guided him to the gardens, parking him on a smooth stone bench. "You love him," Lofn murmured, purposeful. She stroked his hair back and tapped his nose. "You_ love_ him, I mean to say."

"I... It is shameful." Thor hunched inwards, collapsing like an egg beneath a boot. "Wrong, sick. It is not as brothers love, and so I should not feel it, but I cannot make myself _stop_ feeling it."

"Silly, silly boy," Sjöfn chuckled, plucking at his mail so it jangled. "You are your own biggest obstacle at the moment, and while I'd like to remove said obstacle, I can hardly remove you from an equation in which you are the constant, can I?" Thor just shrugged, frowning. "No. No, I can't, so I'll just have to fix you." She was alarmingly cheerful.

It took them all of ten minutes to convince Thor to confess himself to Loki, to convince him that the outcome would be naught but passionate entanglements and frantic, hungry hours spent writhing between bedsheets.

It was when he opened the door to Loki's room that his surety faltered, and he swallowed, choking on the thick ball of words aching to unspool on his tongue.

"What is it, brother-mine?" Loki looked up from the mess of open books on his bed, curls falling in his eyes as he read.

"I... I just wanted to say that I love you." Thor swallowed hard, leaning against Loki's dresser. "That's all. Just... I love you."

Loki chuckled, smiling. "I know. I love you, too."

It was so painfully, obtusely familial that Thor wanted to hide somewhere small and dark. The only problem with that plan was that Thor would not be able to fit somewhere small and dark, nor would he be capable of sitting still in so small a space as he desired. He forced a smile, flickering on his lips, and sat on the floor with his legs crossed. "Good. Good. I simply... I felt that it needed to be said."

Loki's smile remained, though its focus was no longer solely on him; rather, it fell softly as Loki's concentration shifted to the tome open on his knees. Thor scooted himself over to Loki's bedside, resting there so that he could feel the coolness of Loki's bare feet against the nape of his neck, of the pads of his fingers raking over Thor's scalp as Loki tugged thoughtlessly at his hair.

The door stayed open; there was no need to close it. Lofn and Sjöfn tripped past, frowning at the sight of Thor's own tongue, thick and insecure, standing between the two of them finding happiness in each other's depths.

"They make it so difficult," Lofn mourned, frustration stomping her feet. "Why can they not be happy? Their affair is forbidden only by ignorance and lies."

Sjöfn tutted, rubbing her shoulder. "I could do my best, darling, but all I could provide them is physical pleasure. You are the one they really need - you ease the paths trodden by secret lovers."

"I ease those paths, sweet girl, I do not shorten them." They turned, hiding on either side of the doorframe and smiling at each other softly. "Theirs... is painfully long."

Eyes rolling, they turned in, peeping.

Loki read one passage aloud, Thor's eyes locked on him with the sweetest look as he responded, bouncing ideas back and forth between them until the carbon of their conversation was condensed into a glittering diamond of an idea. Loki tugged gently on one blond lock, and did not see the gooseflesh rising on his arms.

The most perceptive man in all the Realms needed only to see what was right in front of his nose.

All that was left was to wait.

* * *

**Mythology time! Lofn was the Norse goddess of passionate, forbidden love affairs, which makes her sort of perfect for Thorki. Sjöfn is the goddess who repairs lovers' spats, gets people horny, and makes the decision of whether or not a couple can actually be a couple. **

**This would have been posted on Christmas, but the entire website went tits up today. Which. No. Just no. ****Unacceptable.**

**Anyways, Happy Christmas, Solstice, Hanukah, Kwanza, Festivus, etcetera, to all those who read. I hope you liked this chapter. **

**Note: If you've seen the Christmas Special of Doctor Who, I would like to talk to you, because this... Jesus Christ on a hot buttered roll, what? _What!?_**

**Review if you liked it, review if you didn't. I like to listen.**


	26. Chapter 26: Late Nights

**I'm so happy to see such an outpouring of reviews for this little fic of mine!**

**As it stands, the numbers are:**

**13 - Thorki**

**2 - Sifki**

**2 - Sorki**

**If you don't like these numbers, feel free to vote and change them! Also, I recently rewatched Thor, and I have so, so, so many ideas with which to tie it in - Hell, I may even write a chapter or two connecting the film to this fic. This is going to be painfully, painfully fun. **

* * *

_The next winter..._

Loki stopped sleeping. Well, he tried to.

Every night, a cold, thready voice wove through his mind, treppanned his skull and funneled in new, dangerous ideas. Revolution, mutiny, uprising and overthrowing. He was not the man for the job, and he didn't need to do it.

Did he?

It bothered Thor, who knew, and Sif, who didn't; both of them saw how weary he was, how the shadows wreathing his viridian eyes were darkening still, like storm clouds prophesying nothing but dread. They did their best to get him to sleep, even plying him with Frigga's medicines when they could, but taking it too often led to narcoleptic symptoms and pain, long before death would set in - agonizing, as if one's blood had been replaced with acid - and sleep was not worth death.

Nothing was worth that kind of suffering, not for Loki, not to them.

The next best option was an old favourite; as they often had in times of great strife, Sif and Thor deigned to share a bed, for Loki's sake, puppy-piled between air-light sheets and heavy furs, warming his bed and holding him close.

Of course, unlike Loki, they did not have the apparent ability to go sleepless for weeks - months, even - and as soon as they cradled one cool appendage, Sif resting against the planes of Loki's chest from under an arm while Thor curled around him and bound one leg between his own, they were usually unconscious within seconds. Loki was not so lucky.

Staying awake left him alone with his thoughts. While occasionally pleasant - memories of Hela and Fenrir and Jormungandr and Sleipnir playing, Angrboða holding his hand in that golden cell and reading with him, Svaðilfari murmuring satiny praises in his ears and lauding him for virtues oft invisible to his own eyes - more times than not, they were dark, filling his head with visions of the Ice Witch's betrayal, Svaðilfari's departure, his children's terrified eyes and cries as Odin threw them through the Void to the most desolate and dangerous Realms or beat them into service.

Sleeping, however, left him with those nightmares, insidious and cold and slick, waking him without a breath in his lungs, as if he were drowning, and though he had always had a greater capacity for waiting out his needs - going for weeks without food and not feeling a thing while his friends hungered inconquerably after a day or so at most, withstanding frigid temperatures while they shivered and went back inside, sleeping four hours after a month of insomnia and suffering nothing for it - he eventually fell victim to them and caved to their call. He slept the night through, but he was not rested, and he would go another great stretch of days before succumbing once more.

It was a situation in which he could not succeed. He was trapped in a cyclical trap, running himself ragged and sleeping fitfully before starting again, bouncing from night terrors to memories that served the same purpose.

Some times, one of his beloved bedmates would show some sign of recognition of his wakefulness or his fitful sleep, but once Loki forced himself to stay still, they descended back into sleep and left him to his books. Loki spent his nights reading, sometimes writing to Hela and Fenrir when he couldn't make a visit, and doing his very best not to think about how terrible it would be to close his eyes.

It was difficult. Imagine being told that you could think of anything but a bilgesnipe in a dress for the next minute; immediately, one's mind flits to that bilgesnipe - what colour dress is it, why is it wearing a dress, is it in some sort of period costume, etcetera, ad infinitum.

_There are times,_ Loki mused, _when having an active mind is more burden than blessing._

There was a lull, for a while. Things were quieter. Odin had returned from Vanaheim and fallen, immediately, into one of his famed Odinsleeps, and when he awoke nearly a month later, he'd gone out on another political trip - this time, to Jotunheim. It was peaceful, with Odin gone. Loki's last months as a nineteen-year-old were far calmer and far better than any he could have imagined, in spite of his sleeplessness.

On the day of his twentieth birthday, he visited Niflheim through the Bifrost, Heimdall letting him through unaccompanied by Odin's men, with Sif and Thor at his side.

"Thank you both, for coming with me," Loki said, smiling softly.

"This is your birthday, beloved," Sif murmured, kissing his temple. "And I wish to meet your children. One day, we are to be married, and then they will be mine, too."

Thor just smiled back, silent, and rested his hand on Loki's neck. They flew along the Bifrost that way, and landed at the gates of Hela's palace, quickly making their way inside.

Hela, sitting sidesaddle on Fenrir's shaggy back, grinned. "Papa! Happy birthday, Papa!"

Loki knelt down and hugged them both tight, kissing their foreheads. "All the happier for seeing you two."

Fenrir nuzzled Loki's jaw. After months of Loki's presence, he'd come to realize that their father wouldn't abandon them, wouldn't break little Hela's heart. Hela, who had never had such misgivings, just scrambled onto Loki and hugged him back, wiry little arms squeezing. "Who are those people, Papa?"

Thor knelt at Loki's side, smiling broadly at his niece. "I am your Uncle Thor, little one, and this is..." _This is difficult to explain. _

Sif stepped in. "I am your Papa's fiancee. We are to be married."

Hela frowned, cocking her head as Fenrir sniffed Sif's throat. Hot puffs of lupine breath gusted over her neck and she swallowed hard. _You have good teeth,_ he growled.

"What did he say?" Sif asked, fingernails digging into her knees.

"He said - it translates roughly to 'You are a good warrior.' He respects you." Loki lifted one of Sif's hands gently, resting it on Fenrir's neck, and scrunched her fingers, guiding them through scratching Fenrir's neck. "There."

Fenrir made no sound, didn't pant and whine and yip as he did when Loki scratched his fur, but leaned into Sif's hands all the same.

"Uncle Thor, you're rather big," Hela said, chewing on her little fingers ponderously. "What's it like, the view from up there?"

"How about you tell me?" Thor offered, scooping her off of Loki and settling her on his shoulders. Hela squealed, grinning, and grabbed hold of his cape to use as reins. The back of his head, padded with thick blond hair, was warm against her stomach, and after a few minutes, she was sprawled over the crown of his head, half-conscious and smiling. A shade, half-present and a dark blue-grey, swept in and reached for her, offering silently to take her to bed.

Loki looked over and smiled at the sight, fondly recalling his own daydreams of Thor covered in little blond babies before he shook them away. Sif, fingers still buried in Fenrir's scruff, looked up at Loki and grinned. "So, birthday boy, what are your plans?"

Loki sat down on the cold stone floor, a smile spilling slowly across his face. "This. I would spend this day with all my children."

He did not say, though it lay heavily on his tongue and his heart, that Sleipnir was drawing away from him so fast he had no hope of ever catching up - that the only child he had ever borne was now rejecting him as violently as one's body does a disease.

He did not say that Jormungandr was missing, and had been for nigh four years, swallowed by salty grey seas with waves rougher than anything.

Instead, he let Fenrir clamor into his lap and scratched behind his ears. "My good, good boy," he murmured. Fenrir snuffled, prideful - _Naturally, Papa._

Loki huffed a laugh and kissed the ridiculously fluffy fur between his eyes. "Of course. There is nothing in you but good."

_Hela is going to bed, Papa. She likes you to sing before she sleeps. _Fenrir bounded out of Loki's lap and chased after the shade, Loki close behind.

And then, all too suddenly, he recalled that shades' appearance - wispy and grey or fully formed - was fickle, subject to change upon the whim of the shade itself.

He recalled this because, in Hela's room, tucking her under a heap of blankets, stood her mother.

She was not so richly dressed as she had been when Frigga made her clothes, nor was she clad in furs and gold as Jotnar often were; thin blue arms poked out of a worn, rust-coloured shift, and her feet padded bare over the stone floors. With her hair in two long braids down her back, Loki could not help but remember that, once, they had been friends. Lovers. _Family._

"Papa," Hela said sleepily, little arms reaching for him. Fenrir curled up around her, warm and soft. "Papa, sing, please?"

Loki nodded, mute, and sat down by her head, stroking her curls softly as he sang her to sleep. Even Fenrir, who decidedly was not tired, succumbed to slumber. It was very difficult not to fall under the sway of Loki's voice when he attempted to convince you of anything.

When they were resting, he rose and turned, practically burning. "You submitted our daughter to this. You told my father where we hid, _knowing_ what he would do, _knowing_ that our children would be harmed." Smoke bloomed, thick and dark, around his feet where they singed through his boots, and he stepped so close that he could taste every breath she did not breathe. "Why?"

Angrboða's throat worked in memory of function, compulsive, and she flitted backwards. "I did not love them, nor did I love you. I had no cause to continue your protection."

"Perhaps you have forgotten the cause of common decency for one's fellow beast?" Loki hissed, following. She was now backed into a corner, crimson eyes wide and glinting. Frost spread from her fingertips where they touched the wall, and Loki spat a hasty binding verse, staying her magic. "No matter what you felt for us, there is still due and just cause to protect other children from suffering at Odin's hands as you did, other people. Explain your actions, you foul, gutless... _bilgesnipe_."

Angrboða laughed, bright and clear. "If that is the best you, in all your silver-tongued glory, may contrive, then I wonder whether the years have taken from you your wits as they have me my life." She ducked away from him, light on her incorporeal toes, and her skirts swished around her delicate ankles.

"For a time, I had lost them," Loki snarled, grabbing her arm. "For a time, dearest, for a time I went mad at your betrayal and the loss of our children. You, sweet sister, you drove me mad."

She pouted softly, one small hand reaching up to cup his cheek, and simpered, "My poor, sweet husband, robbed of his sanity by a mere girl."

"You have never been _merely_ anything," he laughed bitterly. Still, he did not move to take away her hand; small and smooth and pale, it was too heavily weighed with good memories for him to wish it gone, even as she poisoned those memories with cruel, biting words. "Why did you do it?"

Angrboða blinked at the sudden softness in his voice. "My sweet prince. I did it because I could." She could almost taste silver on her tongue with the lie, and Loki saw that.

"Why did you do it, 'Boða?" The childhood nickname rolled easily off his tongue, and Angrboða felt a sudden surge of anger. How dare he? How dare he attempt to sway her, to pray on a heart long since dead in every way?

"Because you, little prince," she spat, "you had _everything_. You had a mother who would do anything to see you happy and safe, who cares for you more than anything. You had a brother who would die to protect you, to this day, who loves you - more than perhaps your current lover does, more than I ever could. You had friends. You had freedom. I had nothing.

"And what better way to right that imbalance than to make us equal? What better way to even the score than to make certain that you had nothing, too?"

Her eyes, which had until that moment been fixed unflappably on his, flickered over to his cheek. Where her hand sat, blue and trembling with fury, his cheek matched. She had attempted to freeze him, as was the skill of all Jotun parents, and yet her attempt had failed. Rather than blackened, frost-bitten Aesir flesh, his cheek was a bright, clear, beautiful blue.

She pressed her hand harder, urging her skin to make him scream in pain, and yet more of him changed. Stiff ridges became clear on his forehead, cheeks, and chin - royal lines, decreeing him the heir to the throne, the vessel of the Void and bearer of the Casket. Her future king.

"There is a code, upon Jotunheim, is there not?" Loki's hands conflagrated, bright flames leaping up his wrists. "To protect all children; any and all young are near sacred in your Realm. Why would you break that code to spite me for mere jealousy? Unfounded, at that. My mother loved you, as she would have her own daughter, as she did me. Thor would have loved you, had the two of you met. Our children, despite your coldness towards them, adored you." He sucked in a breath, staring at the charred stone around his feet. "I loved you, Angrboða. You had love enough to spare, and you were so determined not to see it that you hurt your own family."

Loki laughed. "You say Thor would die to protect me? Your brother. He lived, for he had no magic in him, and on the news of your demise, he traveled to Asgard to retrieve your body. He loved you so greatly that he risked his own life - lost it - in order to free your corpse from Asgard and return it to the Void. And you say you were unloved."

"If he is dead, then why have I not seen him?" Angrboða shouted. "You lie, Silvertongue, you have always been a liar when it suits you, what cause have I to believe you now?"

"He fought back!" Loki roared. The air crackled, flame surrounding him, and Angrboða recoiled from him. It was too hot, much too hot. She couldn't stand the heat any more dead than she could when living, and the scorching swelter of Loki's rage was painful for her. "He was brave, and loyal, and good! He rests now with the Valkryies, in Valhalla, because his love for you - the sister he had not seen in over ten years - was stronger than anything."

As if the breath had been torn from her still, dead lungs, Angrboða let out a quiet little gasp. "I am so... My Lord, I am sorry."

Loki blinked. Out went the fire; the blue faded from his skin, leaving him somewhat flushed, but otherwise his normal pale hue. "Do not toy with me. Do not apologise if you do not mean it."

She knelt, one fist over her heart, the other arm bent behind her back. "My Lord. There is... there was a prince, stolen from Jotunheim in the last great battle of our war with Asgard. He was the heir to our throne. He was precious and beautiful and strong, and he was stolen. But every year, on the eve of his birth, the whole of Jotunheim would glow with the light of a million, million lanterns, and every Jotun would sing to the snow and the Void, begging for the return of our prince." She looked up, crimson eyes boring into him. "Tonight, they light those lanterns and sing, My Lord. I am twenty-two this year. I would have liked to see those lanterns burn."

Loki frowned. Why did everyone insist upon telling him tales of this Jotun prince? Surely, this absent child was no more. It had been decades since his disappearance, over twenty years. He was most likely dead in the melee, and the Jotnar had not the heart to break their King's. "I do not like what you have done, Angrboða, but I love our children. I cannot always be here. You are their mother. You will care for them with all the love you did not show them at birth, or I will ensure that you dwell nowhere so nice as Niflheim again."

Angrboða nodded and rose, fading into a vague grey shape before evaporating almost completely. Loki bent to kiss Hela's hair, to scratch Fenrir's back, and left the room, walking back down to his companions.

"You were gone a while," Sif quipped, though her expression became more solemn at the sight of him. "Beloved? What went on upstairs?"

Thor rushed to his side, checking him for injury and holding him close. "Brother?"

"She was here." Loki buried his face in the warmth of Thor's shoulder, clinging to his cape. "Thor, Angrboða was here. She was the shade who carried Hela upstairs. She has been here with Hela and Fenrir this whole time."

"She has not harmed them?" Thor craned his neck as if, at the right angle, he could see through stone.

"No." Loki swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up, beaming. "No. She apologised. She... She is reformed, by some miracle. She will not harm my family."

Sif squeezed his shoulder, kissing his temple. "And you are well, dearest?"

"I am better than I have felt in years," Loki promised, kissing her properly, Thor's arm between them.

The rest of the day was uneventful, wonderful. It was as good as Loki had imagined it could be and more, and when they left for the night, a soft smile still sat on his lips. Upon their return, Loki kissed Sif good night, but did not retire.

Rather, with Heimdall's assistance, he spied in on Jotunheim. It did, indeed, burn with the light of a million million lanterns, and indeed, every Jotun sang.

Thor sat at his side, shivering. "What are you doing, brother-mine?"

"Every year, on this night, the Jotnar pray to the Void and the snow for the return of their prince. They have faith, no matter that it has been almost twenty years since last he was seen." He took off his cloak and draped it around Thor's shoulders, letting him warm himself. "And every year, they sing and shine and hope. It is... It's beautiful."

"Indeed, brother."

Loki insinuated himself under Thor's arm, head resting against his shoulder, and Thor tugged gently at his hair.

Come morning, when Heimdall returned to his post, he found the two of them slumped over each other, sleeping soundly, smiles on their faces. He had not the heart to wake them.

* * *

**So this one took a while. I'm sorry about that. But! **

**But!**

_**BUT!**_

**It's here and I'm pretty sure it's awesome. Please feel free to review. **

**(Note: Angrboða's return does not mean that there will be some weird inter-matter form hanky panky. No. NO! There will be Sifki and then Thorki, as the votes currently stand. Enjoy.)**


	27. Chapter 27: Families(3a)

**So, I'd like to thank my three reviewers for reviewing so kindly. HUZZAH! THOSE WHO HATH SWORN AN OATH OF FEALTY SHALL REAP REWARDS TENFOLD!  
(I'm gonna post another chapter and then hide in a cave.)**

**The votes have not changed since last I posted, so if you want to change the votes, be strong and soldier on! Warnings: Implied heterosexual sex, because it had to happen some time. **

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_One week later..._

Thor awoke, beaming softly down at Loki's soundly sleeping form. _Like this_, he mused, _soft and sleepy and lying in bed together, one could almost mistake us for lovers._ With gentle hands, he stroked a loose curl off of his little brother's forehead, kissing the skin it had once hidden. "I love you," he murmured, as he had taken to doing whenever Loki could not hear.

Loki shifted, squirming into Thor's hand even as he hugged Sif to his chest. It was the first time he'd moved all night. Since he and Angrboða had made their tenuous peace, not one night's slumber had been interrupted by nightmares. In all honesty, Thor harboured no lack of suspicion towards the ice witch, but he stayed his traitorous tongue as he always did for Loki's happiness.

In all honesty, the only person upset by the Jotun's return was Sif. Usually calm and cool and confident, self-assured in the way that so few are, her teeth were ground near to dust at the sorceress' every mention.

After another minute or so of soaking up his brother's icy skin and imagining that Sif was not curled up atop his dear Loki, Thor crept out of bed to prepare for a day trip with Odin - some diplomatic nonsense or other, insisted upon because he was heir to the throne of Asgard, and his face must be known. Thor thought it was nonsense - offensive nonsense, at that, for Loki was just as likely to reign as was he, but Loki was never pressed into these trips. Loki was to be neither seen nor heard.

Loki let out a sound which can only be called grumpy as Thor left the bed, pouting, and Thor wanted nothing more in that moment than to climb back between the sheets with him. Some nights, in sleep, Loki looked far younger than his twenty years; angles softened by moonlit shadows and tension melted out by slumber, he could pass for himself at twelve, at ten, even. It made it far more difficult for Thor to like Fenrir's mother; how could any creature look on that face - _that face_ - and betray it?

When Loki awoke, mere minutes after Thor's departure, he saw Sif sitting upright on the side of the bed, brushing out her hair with far more violence than was necessary. With a hesitant hand, he touched the bare curve of her shoulder, frowning. "Dearest? What troubles you?"

Sif huffed, throwing down the brush and sneering. "Does that name better fit your dear ghost than I?"

Loki ran a hand through the thicket of his dense curls, a motion brooked more by nerves than any other sentiment. "She is no dearer to me than any other shade."

"She bore you three children," Sif bit back, accusatory, fierce. "She was as your wife when we were engaged. She lacked scruples so direly that she was willing to sell her children to a murderer for spite - what pretty words needed you spin to have her in your bed?"

"She is unimportant beyond the debt she owes," Loki promised, soothing and sweet, kissing Sif's hands. "I care only that she ensure my children's happiness and health when I cannot be there in flesh. She is no more than a nursemaid."

"And what man would not bed a nursemaid at the slightest opportunity?" she scoffed, leaning into him. "You loved her. There is proof, corporeal and not, of your union. She was the first woman to share your bed; by all rights, you and she ought to be married. Be honest, my sweet prince. Tell me, and let your tongue show - were the witch to offer once more, would you not take her?"

"No." Loki's tongue was as dull as a butter knife. "I would not take Angrboða back. She has betrayed me, she has betrayed my children. I would not take anything from her."

Sif pulled one hand free, twisting her hair nervously. "You swear?"

"I swear. It is you who I love, Sif, and no one else." Loki stroked her hair, and she let out a low, blissful noise, slumping into his chest. "You could have said something sooner, beloved."

"It was foolish of me not to." Sif laughed, hands tightening in his hair. "It was foolish of me to think that you'd stray for her."

"Love makes fools of us all," Loki soothed, kissing her softly.

Sif grinned against his mouth and slid into his lap, thighs on either side of his hips, and deepened the kiss. "Have I made a fool of you, beloved?" she teased, tugging on his hair. Loki bit back a moan, dragging Sif back to kiss her properly.

Within minutes, their nightclothes were tossed carelessly to the floor, the door locked with a gasped verse, and the bedding kicked away so they had more space.

Almost an hour later, sweat-soaked and breathless and well past satisfied, decorated in more than a few bruises, the two of them slumped into the pillows as a tangled mass of limbs. Only then, did Loki begin to worry.

"Sif?"

Sif hummed her acknowledgement.

"I believe you have made me a fool," he murmured. He found it difficult not to worry, tugging too hard on his curls to distract himself from the fact that, perhaps, this had been a very big mistake.

"Tha's nice," Sif drawled, patting his chest. "Jus' sleep now." Within seconds, she was unconscious once more, and Loki rolled onto his stomach, biting down on a pillow that smelled an awful lot like Thor to muffle the sounds he made.

It was another hour or so before Sif awoke to find Loki, naked and hunched, staring anxiously at her flat, firm stomach. "Please, Sif, don't be pregnant."

Sif bolted upright, swearing rather creatively, and pressed a hand to her stomach. "I do not feel any different."

"Neither did... she, for a few weeks. Neither did I." Loki tugged harder on his curls, eyes wide. "This is... By the Norns, this is truly terrible."

"Why so terrible? Because I may bear a child, or because I may bear _your_ child?" Sif asked, voice cool.

"Because you may bear a child," Loki replied, practically hyperventilating, "and you will be ridiculed for it and stripped of your status, and I will be killed, or my children killed, and I can't..." He looked up at her, mooncalf eyes wide and bright. "I cannot lose anyone."

Sif saw the feverish glint in his eyes and hugged him, stroking his hair. "I may not even be with child, you silly man. Perhaps you are not so fertile as you think." Sif kept her tone even, soothing, calm, even as she felt like her stomach was boiling itself in acid. Smoothly, she slipped from the bed and padded to his bath, scrubbing herself clean and dressing in yesterday's clothes to practise in the arena with her warriors. Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg had been assigned to her command that autumn, and she took well to being in command.

On the field, with her men at her side, she was in her element. She was strong, powerful, in control.

And now, possibly living inside her, was the one thing she could not control, and she was terrified.

Loki was hot on her heels, trailing nervously after her. This had the potential to be very, very bad.

Still, all seemed normal when Hogun and Volstagg showed up to train and they set up Loki's simulation. They worked fluidly, battering the mannequins that flew at them and swiftly drawing near to the game's defeat. Swords and fists flew, demolishing obstacles and foes with ease, and Loki had only just brought down a swarm of the poppets when he saw one bash into Volstagg, sending him flying back towards Sif.

He was in the air faster than a blink, tackling Volstagg to the ground with, perhaps, far more force than was necessary. The red-head groaned, and Loki helped him to the sidelines before dashing back out, hovering around Sif as if he could protect her from everything. As if he needed to.

It was only another minute or so before they had won, and Sif dragged Loki aside by the collar. "What was that?"

_No child of yours rides with me, princeling, though one may yet, in the years to come._

"Nothing! I was merely fulfilling my duty as a warrior. I was protecting my teammate." Loki's tongue practically glowed silver, so brightly it shone.

"Tell me the truth." Sif slammed him into a pillar, glowering. "Speak honestly, Trickster, or do not speak at all, for I am in no mood for silver today."

_No child of yours rides with me, princeling, though one may yet, in the years to come._

"He nearly hit you," Loki finally managed, hands resting on Sif's waist, one stretching to cover he stomach where it would swell. "_Both of you_."

"There is no 'both of us,' Loki," Sif hissed. "I am one entity and no more. There is no point in you protecting a child which may not even exist."

_No child of yours rides with me, princeling, though one may yet, in the years to come._

"Would you risk it?" Loki asked. "Would you risk a child's life because there is a possibility that they may not exist?"

"I do not need to be protected like some delicate little flower." Sif let go of his collar and stepped away. "Again! Volstagg, that was a foolish mistake. Do not allow yourself to be caught unawares."

Loki did not resist the urge to protect; rather, he stayed at Sif's side, fighting normally unless something came too close for comfort. Which was anything aimed at her.

There were no adverse effects. The simulation was over very quickly, with no injuries to any warrior. It was not something Sif enjoyed, being protected, but Loki was not protecting her. Rather, he protected the possibility that sat behind her navel.

Hogun left with Volstagg - who, after the mannequin had hit him and Loki had tackled him, sustained many broken ribs - draped around his neck.

Sif sat, cross legged, and stretched her spine. For a few moments, it was silent in the arena. They worked soreness out of each other's muscles as they always did, and it took about twenty minutes for Sif to speak.

"I do not appreciate being coddled."

Loki looked up from his feet, bud did not stop working the cramp out of his left arch.

"I spent years of my life being coddled, because I was supposedly weak. My warriors, they understood that I was stronger than that from very early on - Thor understood it, and so did you. I believed that you did, anyways." Sif frowned, rolling her shoulders. "But you protect me now, because you assume I am pregnant, and I wonder only why?"

"Because of Grandmother." Loki's eyes fell back to his feet. "Because, when I visited her, she promised me that while no child of mine rode with her then, one eventually would. She cares for children who have died, Sif, and there have been too many threats 'pon the lives of my children to allow something so stupid as Volstagg being caught unawares to take their lives. I know what will happen, but I know neither when nor how. So I worry, and I protect."

"If there is a child, I can protect them well enough," Sif said. "It is my body which houses them. Why can it not be my body which protects them?"

"You said 'if,'" Loki replied. "You do not invest yourself in this as I have done because you do not know that there is a child, and because you will be shunned if there is one. That is why I protect them, and by default, you. You will protect anyone you see if they are not your foe, but until you have proof - until you believe - that there is an infant inside of you, you will not protect them."

"Do not protect me," Sif said, bargaining, "and I will protect them. Agreed, beloved?"

"Agreed."

It was practically no time at all before Sif felt certain that there was something growing. For three months, they could conceal it. Sif's armour was bulky, and she was slender; no changes showed, and they were safe.

And then, at the dawning of the fourth month, Sif could not lace her armour. It pressed against her stomach, too tight before it had even been tightened, and she sank to the floor as if all the air had leaked out of her, like a balloon.

Until then, she had experienced no symptoms. No sickness, no swelling, no growing - there were no outward signs. They had kept their own quarters, ensuring that not even Thor could see her in the night. Loki's sleep had suffered for it, true, but he was not important.

"It cannot be concealed any longer," Sif said. She was, all at once, very tired. "It will be seen. We must do something."

Loki dragged a rucksack from under his bed with his toes. "I've packed. We'll need - " He turned sharply, eyes fierce. Two crows hovered outside the window, and Loki stormed over to them and threw shut the curtains, stacking a trunk over the pane just to be certain. "Father has his spies, but we will outsmart them. We must go into hiding. Properly. We must find a place to live and assume new lives, change our appearances."

Sif rested one arm protectively over the barely-visible swell of her stomach. "Cease this talk and do it."

They were gone before the hour was up.

In Vanaheim, in a sleepy riverbed village, a lovely young couple - a tall redheaded man called Skrymir and his beautiful blonde wife, Sigun, and their unborn child - moved into a small cottage on the outskirts of town.

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**Mythology time!  
****(It has been far too long since last I typed that.)**

**Skrymir is a nickname for Loki's Frost Giant form, meaning, basically, big boy. He was so big that at one point, Thor and his friends had a sleepover in his glove. **

**Sigun was Loki's second wife, and third mythological lover. She bore him twins, Vali and Narfi, and when Odin bound him to massive boulders in a cave and bade a snake to ooze venom on his eyes until Ragnarok, Sigun the Loyal waited with him and held a bowl over his face to protect him. **

**I hope you like this chapter, or at least want to share your thoughts in a review!**


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